soph's ringin' ! : yes! im doing kinktober! here is the list im going off of! this list is a series of short, smutty drabbles that are mostly about 100 words! if you've never read/seen a kinktober fic, i strongly advise you look into the challenge before you start reading! it might not be your thing, and there are definitely some prompts that might make you uncomfortable! happy reading, and happy halloween! 💞🎃
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day 1 : orgasm control - dean winchester x castiel
day 2 : cumming untouched - dean winchester x castiel
day 3 : threesome - dean winchester x fem!reader x sam winchester (NO WINCEST.)
day 4 : voyeurism - sam winchester x gabriel
day 5 : dacryphilia - dean winchester x castiel
day 6 : intoxication - sam winchester x fem!reader
day 7 : blindfolds - demon!dean winchester x castiel
day 8 : webcam - pornstar!sam winchester x camgirl!reader
day 9 : tentacles - dean winchester x true form!castiel
day 10 : oral sex - dean winchester x fem!reader
day 11 : somnophilia - castiel x fem!reader
day 12 : sex work - stripper!dean winchester x human!castiel
day 13 : dom bottom/sub top - dean winchester x castiel
day 14 : choking/gagging - soulless!sam winchester x fem!reader
day 15 : semi-public - dean winchester x fem!reader
day 16 : remote control - dean winchester x fem!reader
day 17 : messy sex - sam winchester x fem!reader
day 18 : dom/sub - dean winchester x castiel
day 19 : creampie - sam winchester x fem!reader
day 20 : mirror sex - dean winchester x fem!reader
day 21 : rimming - dean winchester x castiel
day 22 : quiet sex - dean winchester x fem!reader
day 23 : biting - vampire!dean winchester x castiel
day 24 : anal sex - dean winchester x castiel
day 25 : double penetration - dean winchester x fem!reader x castiel
day 26 : lingerie - stripper!dean winchester x human!castiel
day 27 : hair pulling - dean winchester x castiel
day 28 : multiple orgasms - sam winchester x fem!reader
day 29 : body worship - sam winchester x chubby!reader
day 30 : breeding - casifer x fem!reader
day 31 : writer's choice - cuckoldery - dean winchester x fem!reader x castiel
a/n - this might be the fastest i’ve ever written a fic??? it’s pure filth so that might be why but LMAO, i love love love the idea of soft dom sam sm he melts my brain, hopefully this is good!! getting back into writing after taking a break from being sick bc my brain wouldn’t work. special thanks to my friend who helped me brainstorm the delicious idea ilysm !! <3
The only thing she could hear was Sam’s soft breathing, and the soft tap tap tap of his laptop keys behind her.
If she paid close enough attention, she could hear the way his shirt rustled when he moved his arms, the soft fluttering of book pages being turned, but her focus wasn’t really attainable, it was slipping through her fingers with each excruciating moment that she was sat there.
Sam shifted in his seat out of a pure intention to get comfortable, and his cock nudged deeper inside of her wet heat, dragged a soft gasp from her lips, which just earned her a soft “shh, honey” against the shell of her ear.
It had been her fault that she was in that position in the first place. She’d been a little too needy with Sam when he was trying to research, and on her third attempt at trying to initiate a — much needed, mind you — make out, he’d grabbed her hips and tugged her into his lap facing him. His voice had been a little stern as he told her to pull his cock out, and the tone of his voice alone had her cunt clenching around nothing as she quickly did as she’d been asked. She knew that voice, she’d had it in her ear most nights, whispered against her throat, against the plush of her thighs. It meant he was in control.
Sam had sat back from the library's table for enough time for her to pull his cock out and pull aside her panties, sank down onto him with a soft moan, but before she could move he grabbed her hips tightly, kept her still.
“Don’t move,” he’d dipped his head down and kissed her throat, pulse fluttering beneath his lips. “Stay there while I finish up and I’ll take care of you after, hm?”
If she was feeling a bit more bratty she would’ve whined or complained or just moved anyways, but his voice in her ear and his hands on her hips had her head spinning, so she just nodded and tucked her head against his throat as he leaned over her to continue what he was doing, completely focused, as if he wasn’t buried deep inside her pussy at that moment.
That had been twenty minutes ago.
It was becoming torturous.
Sam was unfairly skilled at keeping composed. He was also unfairly skilled at winding her up. Those two went hand in hand, it seemed, because each second that passed just worked her up more and more. All she could focus on was the warmth of his body pressed to hers, his cock nestled deep inside of her, the lack of stimulation. When she’d came out to the library with her attempt at bothering him, she’d craved a genuine release, not this.
Her hips shifted slightly and she squeezed her eyes shut, huffed out a soft “Sammy” against his throat when that slight movement was enough for her pussy to throb around him.
“Stay still.” He murmured without as much of a look in her direction. She glanced up at him and his eyes were locked forwards, pupils shifting left to right as he read whatever was displayed on his laptop screen. Tap tap tap, more pages turned, more reading, rinse, repeat. He was killing her.
Barely a minute had passed before she made another soft sound against the warm skin of his throat, lips brushing his neck, “Baby please-”
“My hands are busy, sweetheart,” his voice was so nonchalant it drove her up the wall. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”
Her eyes squeezed shut as she huffed against his throat again. “Can you just take a break?”
“No,” he shook his head. “No, I’m almost done, you’ll just have to wait,” he tsked, a hand briefly pet her hair, the touch so light it was like he was purposely depriving her of any stimulation. “If you’re that needy, you have two hands of your own, baby. Sort yourself out until I’m finished with this.”
She released a shuddered breath against his throat, squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. It wasn’t the answer she’d wanted.
“Hey,” one of his hands came up to the side of her neck and he pressed his thumb against her jaw, tilted her head back until he could meet her eyes. “I told you I’d sort you out once I finished, didn’t I?”
She nodded, bit the inside of her cheek.
“So isn’t it nice of me that I’m letting you get yourself off in the meantime?”
Letting you. Her cunt throbbed again.
“Yeah.” She whispered.
Sam leaned down and kissed her, just a soft little peck, and somehow it just riled her up more. “I’ll be done soon. Go ahead and sort yourself out for me, sweetheart.”
He let go of her jaw and moved his arms to the table again, continued tapping at his laptop, and her eyes scrunched closed again as she tipped forward and rested her forehead against his throat. But she was so needy that she didn’t think twice about following his instructions. One hand stayed tucked at his waist, fingers curled into the soft material of his flannel, and her other reached between them and tucked under the material of her shirt, fingering at the waistband of her panties until she slipped beneath those too, and she was so fucking wet that she was undoubtedly making a mess of his jeans from just sitting there.
Her fingers dipped down, pressed against her clit, and she shuddered as the stimulation made her clench around his cock deliciously. She pressed her fingers forwards again, started to shamelessly rub herself, exhaled soft little moans and sighs against his throat.
Before she could do anything else Sam’s voice was in her ear again, “Quiet, sweetheart. You’re meant to be letting me work, don’t make me tell you to stop.”
Her jaw clenched as she exhaled shakily, eyes squeezed shut, and she huffed a breath against his throat as she took a moment to compose herself. Now that she’d started touching herself, it’d just be a torture to stop, so she just nodded against his throat with the intent to keep herself quiet.
It took a moment for her to settle on a pace. She was a bit too needy with it, her hand squished between their bodies, knuckles pressed to his hard muscles each time she shifted her hand, but eventually she settled into a pace that had her eyes rolled back and squeezed shut, the fingers of her other hand curled tightly into the material of his flannel.
She circled her clit with the pads of her fingers again and again, but it was the feeling inside of her every time her cunt clenched around his cock that made it hard for her to keep quiet. She was half tempted to bite down on his collar to shut herself up, but Sam seemed to be letting her get away with the slight gasps and whimpers that she couldn’t stop herself letting up.
It took an embarrassingly short time for her to get close — her forehead was pressed to his throat, hot breaths puffed out against his skin, trying not to shift her hips as she rubbed at her clit with a need that thrummed within her veins. Her jaw clenched and she held her breath, eyes squeezed shut tighter as she worked herself closer.
“Breathe,” Sam’s breath tickled her ear as he spoke softly. She had a tendency to hold her breath when she came sometimes if she was especially worked up — she didn’t even know Sam was paying attention. She took a shuddery breath, and he murmured a soft, “that’s it.”
It only took a few more circles on her clit before she came and she grit her teeth, huffed out a sharp breath through her nose as the feeling washed over her. Her cunt pulsed in pleasure, waves that kept her rubbing at her clit until it felt too much, and when she finally stopped she was breathing sharply against his neck. Her hand was a bit cramped, fingers wet, heartbeat drumming, but the release felt so nice after she’d been so worked up.
“Good girl,” Sam crooned, and she could’ve cum again at the tone of his voice. “Good girl. Did that help?”
She nodded against his throat, relaxed into his front.
“Yeah?” He asked. “Are you gonna keep still until I’m finished now?”
She nodded again.
“Baby,” she felt his hand smooth up her back until his fingers delicately tangled in her hair, only enough to pull her head back to look at him. “I wanna hear you say it.”
She blinked a few times up at him. He was so devastatingly handsome, it wasn’t fair. “I’ll keep still,” she mumbled, face feeling far too hot. “Promise.”
“Oh, you promise?” She didn’t miss the teasing edge to his words, the smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth.
She nodded again. “Yeah, Sammy.”
“Good girl,” he praised once more, and was nice enough to give her a proper kiss that time. It still wasn’t what she craved — she didn’t feel his tongue in her mouth, he didn’t kiss her until she went dizzy — but it was nicer and kinder than a little peck. “Ten minutes and I’m all yours.”
She settled back into his chest as he went back to work, comfy to just rest against him in her post-orgasm euphoria, happy to wait the ten minutes until he was finished. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d fucked her on the library table that week.
tags: jack abbot x reader, mirror sex, piv-sex, NSFW 18+ MDNI
notes: guess who listened to "yes, chef" for the first time ever! so I took that little bit of Grant's fantasy about mirror sex and wrote this for jack and as smut homework for @oxalaia-quilombensis (I hope I get an a+ for this), tags are below the cut at the end, please enjoy!
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
A thin, glistening strand of drool connected your lips to the duvet as your cheek brushed into the soft fabric with a rhythmic motion of back and forth. One calloused hand kept you steady, your hips up, knees and front pressed deep into the bed, while the other splayed between your shoulder blades with a firm downward pressure to keep you in position.
Fuzzy pleasure shrouded any attempt at bringing a thought to the front of your mind, keeping you warm and pliant for the body currently kneeled behind you. His grunts twisted and danced with the soft, punched-out breathy moans that escaped your lips with every harsh thrust of his hips.
Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh
Through the haze, you desperately tried to remember what Jack had told you right before he bent you at the waist, but all you could focus on was the way his cock pressed so deep into you, you swore you felt him in your throat. You writhed against the duvet in a sweaty mess. Every inch of your skin tingled in an overwhelming heat that clung like the summer sun.
Your head turned as you swallowed down air, your lungs expanding as much as the position could allow. The small, cooling puddle of your drool felt like a relief against your forehead, but the shift had all the motion stopping. A confused whine crawled up your throat, and your hips tried to keep going, but a squeeze of Jack's hand, nails digging into your flesh, made you still against him.
You felt the way he slowly leaned down while the hand that had found purchase at your back slithered up and around your throat, palm finding your chin, lips brushing your ear.
"What did I tell you, huh?" he muttered.
In response, he got another whine, you being too fucked out to even think. All you could feel was pleasure and Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack.
He tsked loudly, the sound echoing in your ear. The hand around your neck gave a small squeeze before trailing up far enough to sink into your hair. In one fluid motion, he gripped your roots and tugged, lifting your face enough that you met your own lidded gaze.
Oh.
"Jaacckkk," you raspingly moaned.
He nuzzled at the side of your head, and his nosed bumped against your hairline. His hazel eyes met yours through the reflective glass of the mirror at the end of the bed.
"Thaaaat's iiiit," he drawled out, voice low enough you felt the rumble of his chest at your back.
As he watched you, he slowly drew his hips back before sharply bucking forward, the motion pushing out a short keen from deep in your lungs. But even he wasn't able to act as unaffected as he tried as your walls pulsed around his length.
"Do I need to hold your head until you cum around me, sweetheart?" he grit through his clenched teeth. "Would you like it if I did?"
"Fuck, Jack, please, I—" Your words morphed into a high-pitched moan after he tilted his hips to make his tip hit that soft spot deep inside your cunt. "I'm gonna c-c-c—"
Jack grunted loudly, almost collapsing on top of you at the suddenness of your climax, especially one that ripped through you untouched. His weight deliciously pressed you fully back down into the bed. His left hand planted in the spot next to your face, and he staved off his own high by halting once again, cock buried within your walls.
The air filled with the rhythm of your matching pants. Your body slunked sleepily as you came down, mind a bit clearer than it was before. However, you tensed back up as Jack began resumed his thrusting.
"Jack—"
He yanked your head back up by your roots and met your gaze through the mirror once again. "Gotta give me another one,sweetheart, because you didn't listen. Maybe this time you'll do as you're told and keep your eyes on me."
content warning: 18+, MDNI. smut - edging/overstimulation, oral (reader receiving), reader crying from overstimulation, trinity being condescending, dom!trinity x sub!reader
a/n: eighth prompt! prompt: edging/overstimulation, trinity santos. a very short drabble for this one, i hope u like it !!! not proofread
masterlist
20 prompts for 100
the thing you loved the most about your girlfriend happened to be the very same thing you hated.
trinity santos was always determined and firm on her decisions. her unwavering love towards you was unlike anything you’d experienced with anyone else, but her resolute personality in the bedroom was another situation.
whenever time allowed, trinity loved to edge you until you were shaking from overstimulation. no matter how hard you pleaded, she never let you cum until she was ready.
you let out another whine of frustration when she pulled away from your throbbing pussy again, legs shaking and tears falling from your eyes.
“please, trin. please. i wanna cum so badly.” you begged trinity, looking at her smug face through your teary gaze.
“not yet, baby. you’re not ready yet.” she cooed before reaching up to brush the tears from your cheeks. her tone was extremely condescending, but you were too overwhelmed to catch on.
“i am. i am, i promise.” you babbled, lacing your fingers with hers as she lowered herself back between your thighs.
trinity shook her head and squeezed your hand with faux sympathy. “no you’re not.” she said firmly before slowly licking a stripe through your folds again, causing you to shudder.
when she sucked on your clit, your hips bucked up against her mouth suddenly. “i can’t hold it anymore- oh my god-“ you moaned loudly, mind going blank as you cane harder than you ever had before.
when you came back down, you were met with a disappointed look from your girlfriend. “did i tell you you could do that?” she asked you, to which you shook your head in shame.
(smut) dbf! jack abbot- this is lowkey a wild ask so it's completely up to you if you want to write it or not but... like soft smut where reader is scared of pelvic floor exams. asked jack about pain with penetration and he said he'd examine them if they wanted that. time passes before reader finally agrees, jack coming over to their apartment- let's just say it ends with stubble burns against their thighs.
— I LOVE WILD ASKS please never ever be afraid to send ‘em i really loved this one.
As you had gotten older, you allowed your yearly pelvic exam to come and go. Sometimes you would get the courage to make the appointment and tell yourself this year you’re gonna do it. You’re gonna face the music, anxiety be damned and go get checked out. Then as it inched closer and closer to the date you chicken out and cancel.
You were beyond scared of getting one. You knew exactly why too, losing your virginity had not been nearly as fun as all your friends made it out to be, sex hurt. When you told your girlfriends this they looked at you a little funny and asked maybe he didn’t do it right, it wasn’t exactly supposed to be painful, not the whole time anyway. So you did a few experiments of your own, cause maybe they were right and the guy just i don’t know did it wrong?
You bought a toy, a not too big but average to smaller sized dildo, online as going in store was too much to handle. And one night when your college roommates were out, you tried using it but it hurt just the same, you even tired just using your fingers but that wasn’t much better. From then on for years, you avoided sex as much as you could. All subsequent boyfriends who managed to persuade you into it just told you it'd be “Much better with me trust me baby” and it never really was.
When you bring it up to one of your friends again, they point something out that you had been trying to avoid thinking of. “Hey, isn't one of your dads friends a doctor or something? Why haven’t you asked him about it?” oh that guy. Yeah the one you are kinda a little too attracted to who’s not just your fathers friend but his best friend, who makes your brain short circuit each time he calls you sweetheart? That one. Yeah you’d rather not talk about how sex is painful to the older man, who is the closest person to your father. You just might have to though if you ever wanna actually enjoy sex in your life.
When you see Jack a few days later for your dads weekly dinner night he hosts, you manage to pull him away telling your dad it’s private girly medical related questions, he shuts up shortly after that.
“What's up kid you okay?” Jack asks, concern evident in his voice. You rarely asked him anything medical and he was a bit worried you’re about to ask him how long is it normal for a woman to go without getting her period. “How…” you squeak out. Oh god here it comes. Before you start again you clear your throat. “How um common is, you know pain during sex…” the word sex leaves your lips in a meek and quiet tone, Jack tries his best not to chuckle as to not embarrass you further, but he’s happy it's not the question he was expecting. “Pretty common kid, at least the first time” he explains calmly, his casual demeanor easing your anxiety only a bit. “And how about every time?”
The idea of you having sex multiple times shouldn't be making Jack's chest ache the way it is, you’re a young beautiful girl after all, he tries telling himself it’s only cause it’s apparently painful and he cares for you. This time he straightens up a bit, “if the guys aren’t being rough, it's less common, it shouldn’t be every time” he watches as your eyes go a little wide and shake your head no in response to the first half of his statement. “Have you had an exam lately kid?” This is a purely professional question so it shouldn’t feel as dirty as it does coming out of his mouth.
“I um normally cancel them” Jack can only sigh out in a bit of frustration. “You should really get them regularly sweetheart” he misses the way your thighs lightly squeeze together at the use of the nickname. “I’m scared s’ all, anything going um inside hurts and doctors offices only make me more nervous” you explain. He smooths a hand over your hair, sympathy lacing his voice. “it’s okay i don’t mean to make you feel bad about it kid i swear” “How-” he stops himself, his eyebrows furrowing as if he was debating something in his head. “What?” you prompt, trying your hardest to not buckle at the knees from the way he’s practically petting your head. Physical touch is a quite rare thing between you too minus a few hugs on birthdays or pats on the back. “How about I give you one?’ oh sweet jesus that sounds wrong. He clears his throat, his face a little flush now at his own words but he doesn’t backtrack. “I’m a doctor, that you know, so it’s less scary” “No appointment needed if that makes you more comfortable” as you are processing his words he continues on. “I could do it at your apartment, where ever you feel most comfortable”
Your throat shouldn't feel as dry as it does, but the idea of Jack examining your pussy makes your head spin and slick settle between your legs a little. Maybe you should just see a regular random doctor, not one you have a wildly inappropriate crush on. You leave him with a small “Thank you, I'll think about it” and run off with the excuse of using the bathroom. You leave before Jack that night without much of any goodbye to him, he tries not to dwell on it, he really hopes he didn’t upset you.
You however dwell for days on Jack’s suggestion. Without the underlying nerves you feel because of being attracted to him, it is a good idea. You’d feel far more comfortable, maybe too comfortable being examined by him rather than a doctor you hardly know. You don’t bring it up to anyone as you’re too embarrassed but you think about it for days. When you get a reminder for the last gyno appointment you were brave enough to make, you cancel it without another thought and text Jack.
All he does is thumbs up your message but for the next few hours you are anxious as all hell while waiting for him to knock on your door. You had given yourself the time both to calm down but also clean your apartment. Even though he was literally coming over to give you a vaginal exam and wouldn't care what your place looked like, you wanted it to be neat. Even if this was going to be probably the weirdest event in your life to date.
You are startled out of your train of thought by a knock at the door, you glance at the clock — 3pm exactly. Damn older men and their punctuality or was it a doctor thing? Shaking your head you nervously make your way to open the door, greeting Jack with a little awkward wave. He chuckles softly, the sound calming you as you step back from the open door to invite him in. “It’ll be alright, i’ll be gentle kid” his voice runs over your skin leaving behind goosebumps. You don’t know what you’re more nervous over, the expected pain of the actual examination or, the idea of Jack's hands on you, his fingers in you.
Without wasting much time Jack settled into a semi professional but still comforting balance as he puts down the small bag of stuff he needs on the floor of your living room. You appreciate his effectiveness, as he tells you to sit on your couch facing him. You listen and watch as he sits on top of your coffee table. “This will be a little awkward because we are here and not a hospital, so I don't have a few things sweetheart” he starts to explain. “The no gown won’t be too hard, you have a skirt on so if you could just take off your underwear i can have access without-” he paused a moment as if thinking “leaving you too indisposed” the way he snaps a pair of blue latex gloves on shouldn’t be making as wet as it is, fuck.
“Can-” you stutter out, your face hot but he seems to pick up on what you’re asking, nodding softly he turns his head away to give you some semblance of privacy. Bunching up your skirt you hook your fingers into the waistband of your slightly soaked panties and pull them down your legs. You kick them under the coffee table so they’re out of sight and tap Jack on the shoulder, he shakes his head softly at your shyness before turning to face you again.
“Put your feet up either side of me on the table, won’t be the same as stirrups but close enough” tugging at the end of your skirt to cover yourself a bit more you do as he says and place your feet up flat on the low table. He adjusts them slightly, grabbing your foot one at a time and slides them a bit so they are more half off not so far back. “Scooh more to the edge of the couch kid, lean back ‘n tilt your hips up a lil more f’ me” the way you listen so well to Jack has him smiling softly at you and muttering out a small “Atta girl”
He pressed lightly around on your abdomen through your shirt and skirt, eyes glued to your face gauging your reactions. “No pain or tenderness when I do this, right?” when you shake your head no he stops. “My hand is gonna go under your skirt for a second okay?” your face grows hotter and you nod, your voice has yet to find you again but so far nods are an effective enough communication with him. He reaches down between your legs but only presses around again, this time he is much closer to your pussy but he remains on the outside, pressing over the mound of it and on your pubic bone. “No pain?” Once again your head shakes side to side. His hand pulls away, your eyes follow his movements as he reaches down to grab a small bottle out of his bag.
He holds it but doesn’t do anything with it yet, his eyes find yours again “This next part i have to put my fingers inside, that okay sweetheart?” you gulp softly, nodding yes slowly as your nervousness grows again. “That’s the part that us- usually hurts” you explain in a small voice. It’s Jack's turn to nod now, "Penetration?” you let out a ‘mhm’ in agreeance as he squeezes the clear substance onto his pointer finger. “This is lube to make it easier and I’ll go slow, only one finger” his other hand reaches around your leg to touch the back of your calf, rubbing soothing lines up and down the muscle. “If you’re relaxed it might not be as painful” he explains, waiting on your go ahead before reaching down under your skirt once again.
Pushing his lube coated index finger through your folds the tip of it finds your entrance, he gauges your face, when you nod again he proceeds by pushing it inside.
Your sharp intake of air makes him stop once only the first bend of his finger is inside. “Come on, relax f’ me sweetheart” his low honey dipped voice makes your body go a bit lax, he inches his finger forward again and when you show no sign of pain he goes all the way til it's completely inside. “How’s that kid?” he sounds as breathless as you feel but you try to ignore it. “A little pain” you squeak out. “Give it a second, relax and it might go away”
“Don’t know how to relax more” you whine out, the sound going straight down Jack’s spine and up again, he shivers a bit and wills it away before it travels further south. “I’m gonna try something…do you trust me sweetheart?” you’re already nodding again in response before he fully finishes his question.
Bringing his thumb up he parts the lips of your pussy til it finds your clit. You gasp out and slightly scare him, “That hurt?” “No no m’ sorry surprised me is all” you mumble out, biting your lip to hold in any more noises from getting free, like an accidental moan. Jesus christ why did you think this was a good idea again? If you had to bet you’d say you were soaking his gloved finger, even with the sting you felt from it inside, it felt good at the same time. You never even reached this type of feeling with your own fingers.
His thumb on your clit presses down lightly and starts rubbing in circles, you let out a small little sigh that makes Jack smirk a bit. “There you go honey, come on” “Un-tense your shoulders” your body listens almost instantaneously “Good girl” you can’t help the whimper that comes out at his words, he doesn’t say anything in response. “Feel any better?” he prompts, his eyes remain on your face, no matter how bad he wants to peek under your skirt to watch the way your little bud twitches under his touch. “Mhmm a bit” you answer softly, trying to push away the odd feeling bubbling up in the pit of your stomach.
“Can I put in another finger, we’ll see how that feels?” he whispers, he definitely has enough information that he thinks he knows what’s wrong already but you don’t need to know that. “Yeah” you pant out, shaking your head a little too eagerly, if Jack notices he doesn’t say a word. With ease his middle slips in alongside his pointer, his thumb still circling your clit. “No pain honey?” the motion of your head once again answers his question. “Wanna try something else…can I move my fingers sweetheart?”
“Please” you plead, head to fuzzy to care how desperate you sound. Slowly pulling his fingers back he watches your face as he pistons them back in, repeating the motion. “That feel good?” “Mhm no pain, fuck! feels really good” you whine out, your hips now bucking up against his fingers. He speeds up, still waiting to see if it hurts or if you stop him. “Jack” you moan out, his cock throbs in response.
“Yeah kid?” “Need- Mm” you cut yourself off, pinching your lips in a line and tilting your head back. “Nuh-uh come on honey, tell me what ya’ need” he prompts, curling his fingers up to hit a different spot inside you that has you letting out a pornographic noise you didn’t know you were even capable of. “Need-” you huff out, before he stops you “Look at me when you say it, come on kid” “Use your words”
Lifting your head you look into Jack’s eyes, his breath hitches at the sight of your glazed over lust filled eyes, batting your eyelashes you start again. “Need more” you sob. His stomach just about hurts now from how hard he is in his jeans that feels all too tight. “Yeah? What more honey? Another finger or something else?” he asks, consciences be damned he’s not gonna leave you hanging even if your old man would fucking kill him if he ever found out about this. “Somethin’ else please” you whine, not even knowing what more you want. Jack however seems to when he takes his free hand off your calf and lifts your skirt, his head ducking under it. His fingers don’t stop positioning in and out of your slick cunt even if you squeal a bit at his motion. The noise morphes into a moan, your body melting into the couch when his warm tongue pokes out and makes contact with your pussy, licking at your pussy. “Still feel good kid?” he mumbles out, before his thumb leaves your bundle of nerves only to be replaced by his mouth as he sucks at it.
“Yeah- Yeah feels s’ good” you breathe out, letting go of your skirt, he grabs at your one leg, lifting your foot off the table placing it over his shoulder, prompting you to do the same with your other before his fingers slip out of your pussy.
You whine at the loss, “Jackkk” making him chuckle softly against you. “Hang on sweetheart” he coos as he uses both hands to grab at your hips, pulling you up and half way off the couch to get you closer to his mouth, lapping at you hard splitting your folds with his pointed tongue before sucking at your clit. “Ah- Ahhh ooh fuck” you wail out, your hands frantic to steady yourself. One finding purchase on his shoulder before sliding down his back under his shirt where your nails scratch at his skin. The other holding on for dear life to the edge of your couch cushion, your legs tighten a bit around his head.
“Holy shit” you whisper out in breathless disbelief, the odd feeling from before coming back to quickly build in the pit of your stomach. Jack's large hands cupping your waist squeeze at your flesh, as he shakes his head side to side a little, flattening his tongue against you. Your thighs burn a bit at the friction of his stubbly face rubbing against them. He moves back to harshly sucking at your clit, your pussy and his mouth coated in his spit as he practically slurps at your juices.
“Huu- shit” “Wait wait! Jack- mhm feels like m’ gonna pee” you try pushing at his head to stop him, even if you desperately didn’t want his mouth off you. That feeling in your stomach was teetering on the edge. “Ya’ don’t have to pee sweetheart, that’s a orgasm you feel” he grumbles out, the explain making your hand ease up from pushing instead it rakes through his curls “S’ okay cum for me kid”
“Promse s’ okay” you whine out, staring down at his head between your legs. “Yeah, you can do it” “cum f’ me it’s okay honey” "Promise it’ll feel good, no pain” his reassure is all you need to let your high wash over you, legs shaking on his shoulders, “There we go, fuck” he moans out. Your back arching as you cum on his tongue with a loud wanton moan filling your apartment coupled with his praise, “Atta girl, sweetheart” “Such a good girl f’ me” he laps at your cum. “Taste so fucking sweet, like i knew ya’ would” he mumbles out, that one you think was meant more for himself.
Managing to reluctantly pull his head from between your soft thighs, Jack used his hold on your hips to place your body back onto the couch. You stare at him wide eyed when you notice his face all wet, covered in you. “Got somethin’ on my face kid?” you nod meekly. He chuckles and pinches at the collar of his shirt to bring it up and wipe at his mouth. “No pain after?” he asks. “No, never done that before” you whisper out, flicking your head down to where your skirt now covered your puffy but satisfied pussy.
“Just needed an older man huh sweetheart, help ya’ relax a little and the pain melts away” he states, reaching down to rub at your knee. “Fucking little boys” he tsks but your eyes are glued to the large bulge in between his thick thighs. You’d have to be extra relaxed to take that monster on…
— would the position jack eats you out in, be at all comfortable for that old man's back? fuck no and lowkey it’s a hard to physically imagine it but jack’s strong s’ fineeeee i got a little too lost in sauce when writing clearly oops…this was also only like half proofread.
Dean's been at it for over an hour, head between your thighs, tongue inside your cunt.
You've cum more times than you can count- they've got it at every angle now, every sound you can imagine, moaning, gasping, begging. It's almost getting ridiculous at this point- you know they won't use all the footage.
But you're also not gonna stop him. You're not sure you've ever felt like this- it's overwhelming in the best way possible, your whole body feels like syrup, you're soaking over him, over the sheets. You'd be sobbing by now if you weren't so painfully aware of the camera only inches from your face.
He pushes his fingers into you again, deep and hard, curling in a way that makes your head spin.
Your hips lift off the mattress, he grabs hold of you quick, pushing you back down hard, "Stay still-"
You know they'll keep that. They'll make sure to keep anything he says. Those are always the parts that get the most replays- hell they're the parts you replay. When you're up late, watching his videos, hand between your thighs.
"-I didn't tell you to fucking move."
You don't know how it still works for you. You know it's not him, he even ran through ideas of lines he was gonna use before you started. He was very sweet about it, almost shy when you were alone- he's anything but shy now.
His grip on you tightens as he moves back to your clit, his tongue working against you rapidly. You're gripping the sheets, trying to keep yourself steady, your whole body convulsing as another orgasm starts to rise quickly.
"Fuck- please-"
He's already told you to beg, a couple times actually. You know he will again. It gets you hot just thinking about it, the stern tone in his voice. You bite your lip hard, trying to stop your hips from rising again. Your gaze falls to the camera, a reminder that you're supposed to be performing, you batter your eyelashes, let out another loud moan.
He pulls back suddenly, his sticky hand wrapping around your thigh, his other hand moving up to wipe his mouth. He looks like a mess, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, chin glistening with your arousal. He glances around to the set, speaking louder, "Sorry guys- I've gotta- I've gotta take a break."
The room picks up in a flash, people moving around, cameras resetting. People come running over with robes, one gets draped over your shoulders, a plastic cup of water pushes into your hands. You take a big swig of it, suddenly realizing how dry your mouth is.
People move around you, you see a few people checking the monitors, gearing up for the next shot. You glance at Dean, he's pulling in a shaky breath, pushing his hair out of his face with his long fingers.
You try to go over everything that just happened- why he wanted to stop. Maybe it's the way your bare heel had dug into his back the last time you came, maybe it's the way you tugged his hair a few minutes ago. Maybe he's just getting sick of being the only one actually doing any work.
He moves closer to you on the mattress, settling close enough that he could reach out if he wanted to. He looks up, gaze falling over you, then turns away fast, back to his own cup.
You speak quickly, nervously, "I'm sorry- did I-"
He cuts you off, leaning his head down slightly so he can speak in a hushed voice, "I'm gonna cum, sweetheart."
It catches you off guard, "What?"
He takes a swig of water, then speaks slowly, "If we keep going, I'm gonna cum."
You're still not sure you've understood him, "What do you-"
"I'm not kidding here, I feel like I'm gonna fuckin' explode- if they catch that on film my whole tough guy act is fucked-"
"We haven't even- I haven't touched you-" you manage to get out.
"I'll never live it down if I blow my load just from tongue fuckin' you- jesus-" he shifts awkwardly, you realize he's trying to hide his boner- it's not easy when his cock is larger than any you've seen before.
"You're gonna cum just from going down on me?"
"You're moaning like you've never had a guy touch you before- it's not exactly helping."
You raise an eyebrow, "I can stop?"
He grins at you, "Don't you dare."
Your heart skips a beat, thighs clench together. Forget any video- this is what you're gonna be thinking about tonight.
He takes another gulp of water, then looks back at you, "Just give me a minute to cool off, and I promise I'll fuck you so hard you can't walk tomorrow-"
warnings ૮꒰ ˶- ༝ -˶꒱ა : oral ( fem rec. ) ‚ munch!sam ‚ softdom!sam ‚ based of this tiktok hnghh
sam winchester w/ a bratty gf . . . yup that's it! ( ´∀`)
long before you got together sam knew you were a bratty lil thing. doted on and spoiled rotten, who had the world in your palms with a few bats of your eyelashes. the only surprising thing was that you had quite the foul temper. . .
it was hard to believe until you saw it. like, yes, the girl dressed head to toe in pink was shouting and stomping in her wedged heels for all to see, because she disagreed with her much bigger, calmer boyfriend.
though he was right where he wanted to be, sam had to correct your attitude; i mean, you were causing a scene.
now, there were two directions this could go: the lenient or the harsh route. but with you, both methods were needed to ensure sam's point got across.
lenient was gentle, soothing. that was sam telling you in an oh-so-soft tone, “i understand you're upset, sweetheart, but you need to calm down.” all while caressing your cheek with his thumb.
on the other hand, harsh was stern and authoritative. that was sam dragging you back to the impala and having his way with you in the backseat . . .
“sammy, jus' eat it n' make me cum,” you still had some fight in ya, cute.
he shakes his head as both an answer and a teasing mechanism. he pulls away from your pussy, replacing his tongue with his fingers. the lewd squelching n' sloshing of your pussy fills the air.
he pistons them juuuust right against the nerves of your cute g-spot. he juts and scrapes against your walls as well before curling them up, up, up until your toes curl and your heels dig into his back.
his tone is firmer with you, leaving no room for discussion. "i told you earlier to calm down, angel; now stop squirming and take it," he says while adding consistent pressure as your cunt flutters and clenches around his fingers. your eyes cross when he grinds you on his digits.
“ah–don’t do that,” you cry as the pressure in your tummy tightens. “m'gonna cum, sammy,” you tell him, wishing you could grip those shaggy brown strands of his, but when being punished, sam deprived you of touching him.
“don't you dare, or else you won't cum at all,” he warns with a wet, punishing slap to your mound.
sam drives his fingers deeper before sending a few more rounds of slaps against your cunt. and once that choked, sharp moan leaves your throat, your boyfriend moves faster than light itself, slamming your pussy against his face.
“mmn, can't hold it, gonna make a mess,” you meet his gaze with the glossiest eyes and the biggest pout, undoubtedly swaying him.
“go ahead, sweetheart, cum all over my face,” and you do. your body goes taut as clear liquid ejects from you in pulses. your head falls back against the seat as a symphony of wanton moans echo around the vehicle.
sam doesn't move, eagerly drinking down the spout of liquid. you can hear his gulps as your body shakes and his mouth widens, not missing a single drop. he then grinds your heat against his face as more weak spurts flow into his mouth.
sam pulls away once the aftershocks of your orgasm subside, and instantly goes back to the caring boyfriend you had thirty minutes ago.
wiping his mouth with his forearm, he asks, “all better now, sweetheart?”
thinking about sitting on jack abbot’s thigh, lazily rolling your hips and leaning into his chest, just enough for stimulation but not enough to actually get anywhere.
jack’s wearing his dumb cargo pants, his work phone shoved in the pocket you’re currently sitting on. you learn rather quickly that jack (the old man he is) has his phone set to vibrate. you also learn that someone is very intent on getting a hold of him.
jack realizes his phone is trapped under you, undulating and grinding into the new sensation. grins when he discovers, yes, you are wanton enough to treat his vibrating phone like a pseudo sex toy, grinding harder every time a call or text comes through.
“i should probably get that.” he murmurs, not actually making any effort to dislodge you from his thigh. you just double down, arms around his neck, pussy directly on his dumb cargo pants that you hate so much, clit catching on the rough fabric and the corner of his phone, chasing the periodic vibrations.
“gonna let me get that baby?” he teases, grabbing your hips to lift you up. you retaliate by sinking your teeth into his shoulder, fighting his grip to get your wet cunt back on his thigh.
“oh, she’s feral today,” he comments, smacking your ass once in response to the bite - jack knows it’s gonna leave a mark.
you don’t even react, focused on wiggling your way back down onto his thigh and phone, which is still vibrating through his pants. you were so close, and jack is being so mean, making you hover over the embarrassingly large wet spot you left behind.
“you’re gonna water log my phone,” jack notes, following your eyes to the wet patch. “gonna have to stick it in rice after this. how am i gonna explain to IT that my work phone is broken? tell them it’s because i have a very demanding little girl at home with the world’s wettest cunt? and that she sat on my phone like a little slut, using the vibrations to get off?” jack paused, grinning at the long whine you made, embarrassed and turned on by the idea, hips still wiggling. “is that what i’m gonna have to tell them?”
you don’t respond, mainly because you’re not sure if you can form words at this point, and finally win the war against his grip to drop back down to his thigh, cunt once again pressed hard onto the cargo pocket. you immediately start humping, only further proving jack’s point. you don’t care - you’re so close.
jack leans forward, stubble brushing your ear as he growls, “maybe i should make you tell them. call them and apologize for ruining my phone with your wet, selfish cunt. what do you think about that?”
you come - embarrassingly hard, hips stuttering against him as you continue to soak his pants, vaguely aware that jack is cooing and encouraging you as you do so.
“atta girl, so easy for me. coming just from a few calls and texts from robby,” jack rubs your back, letting you collapse into his shoulder, bright with embarrassment and exhaustion.
after a couple of minutes, jack works his hand into his pocket, slowly removing his phone, making a point to wipe the sheen off on his shirt before checking it.
“hm. lucky girl. robby said they got a hold of shen,”jack tips your chin up so you look at him, stupid smirk on his face, “he apologizes for all the calls.”
summary: working at the hospital morgue didn't exactly endear you to the emergency room staff, especially when you're always cracking jokes. you think Jack might be warming up to you, but are quickly proven wrong when he berates you in front of the department after an ill-timed joke.
tags/warnings: sfw just a steamy kiss, big time angst, morgue technician!reader, socially awkward reader, discussions of death and grief (seriously, a lot of talk about death and grieving), mean Jack :(, age gap (not specified, but i wrote her as being between 28-30), mean girl nurses, medical inaccuracies probably
wc: 8.9k
a/n: baby's first request!!! feeling very nervy about this one as its my first time writing angst so please be kind <3 it turned into much more of a meditation on death than i expected but i hope you enjoy the jack angst!! also please go read @nightpitt's take on this request!!! it was incredible <3 (and in the future please don't send me requests that you've sent to multiple other authors, it makes me uncomfy)
credits: gif credits to @vanillarot <3
Majorie Deacons, 83. Survived by her husband, Harold, of 62 years, her three children–Mary, Thomas, and Steven–and 10 grandchildren. Worked as a paralegal for 48 years before retiring to the Poconos with Harold. Moved back to Pittsburgh when she got sick. Died from sepsis as a result of her cancer-weakened immune system.
That was all you knew of the woman laying in front of you, her skin pale and body unnaturally still. You thought about her life as you removed her engagement and wedding ring, the crucifix pendant around her neck, the diamond bracelet around her frail wrist–all logged securely for the family to pick up at their convenience.
You thought about her life, about the 83 years she spent on this earth. Where did she grow up? Was Harold her high-school sweetheart, or did they meet in college, or a bar? Did they travel? What sights did they see, how many sunsets did they share? Did she remember exactly where she was when Kennedy was assassinated, like most older folks did? Did she like red lipstick or pink? When did her hair turn white–did she hate it or did she embrace it?
Did she feel welcomed by death, or did she fight it kicking and screaming?
83 years, such a long life and yet still not long enough for the people who loved her.
You spent a lot of time grieving people you’d never met before as a morgue technician. It was a tough job–one spent with people on the worst days of their lives. Sure, you weren’t the one responsible for saving lives–didn’t have a relationship with the patient while they were living–but sometimes you thought maybe it was worse in a way. You learned about these people from their families, from the people so deeply grieving their loved one that often all you felt was gut-wrenching sadness for the hole that now lived in these people’s hearts. You didn’t get the benefit of seeing them interact with their loved ones, didn’t get to know their personality or see their quirks. All you experienced was the grief their loss wrought, not the joy their life had created.
You liked being there for people, though. Death is not something Americans are accustomed to talking about openly, the aftermath of losing a loved one often impersonal and shrouded in mystery. Especially at the hospital, it often felt more clinical than anything else, with procedure and policy often taking center stage over the deceased.
You liked bringing a sense of humanity to the process; liked to have the families reminisce about their loved ones, liked getting to know them through the people who cherished them the most despite the deep ache it sometimes left in your chest.
You learned about Marjorie upstairs, from the family as you collected the body, and you’re looking forward to learning more about her when the family comes to collect her effects. You found that getting people to talk about the person they lost made it easier to discuss funeral and transport arrangements. You didn’t want them to feel like they were just another box to check off your to-do list.
A knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts.
“Hey, we got another one upstairs. Transport’s been taking forever tonight,” Elise, your boss, said, rolling her eyes. “They have one job: get the body from point A to point B. What gives?”
You shrugged, sighing as you finished cataloging all of Marjorie's effects. “I’ll be back soon,” you said, squeezing her hand gently before making your way to the elevators, up to the emergency department.
Transport was supposed to, well, transport the body. But they were often backed up for one reason or another, and delays in moving the body meant a valuable room remained occupied when it could otherwise be used for another patient. So, more often than not, Elise sent you up to grab the body and bring it back down for processing. It was faster that way, and often gave the family some peace knowing that their loved one wasn’t just sitting in the emergency room.
You didn’t mind, exactly. As much as you enjoyed the quiet and solitude of the mortuary, you liked peaking your head up in the ED and seeing the hustle and bustle there, the way it teemed with life as well as death, even at night.
And it didn’t hurt that the senior night shift attending was perhaps the most handsome man you’d ever laid eyes on. You’d had a crush on him since you met him, your introduction being maybe one of the most embarrassing moments of your life.
It was your first time up in the emergency department, the incessant beeping and constant chatter a stark difference to the quiet morgue–if people were talking down there, something was seriously wrong.
You’d been taken on a brief tour by the charge nurse, Lena, who gave you a rundown of the transport procedure. You met a few of the residents, Dr. Ellis and Dr. Crus, and a handful of nurses, all of whom seemed nice enough.
But you almost stopped dead in your tracks when you met the kind hazel eyes of the graying, curly-haired man standing at the nurses station.
“And this is Dr. Abbot, senior night shift attending. You’ll need his or Dr. Shen’s signature whenever you transport a body,” Lena introduced you, “Dr. Abbot, this is the new morgue technician. She graciously offered to help with transport.”
You held your hand out, brain nearly turning to mush when he shook it. His palm was rough, calloused from many years of working with his hands, and unbelievably warm. His hand also dwarfed yours, which sent a tingle down your spine.
“New morgue technician?” he asked, “Well, no offense, but I hope we don’t see you too much around here,” he joked with an easy smile on his face.
“I guess that remains to be seen,” you said, and followed it up with a ‘ba dum tss’ sound effect and finger guns. Yes, you really did that.
The joke didn’t land; they never did. Jack cocked his head to the side, an almost-smile gracing his lips, and shot you an inquisitive look, like he was trying to figure you out.
His intense stare made your cheeks heat and your tummy swirl. You weren’t sure if you were aroused or uncomfortable, or some combination of both.
You couldn’t get out of there sooner.
It felt like you could never get your foot out of your mouth when Jack Abbot was around. And so the cycle began: get called up to retrieve a body, make an ill-timed joke, embarrass the hell out of yourself, and return back to the safety of the morgue as quickly as possible.
You never made jokes in front of patients or families; you knew that it was something strictly reserved for your peers, people you thought understood the challenges you all face in healthcare–and deathcare.
You weren’t sure why it seemed physically impossible for you not to use humor as a defense mechanism. Part of it was the nature of your job–gallows humor was a coping mechanism you latched onto and couldn’t seem to shake off. It was the same way some people laughed when they were nervous or panicked–a reaction to pent up emotions and stress that manifested as humor instead of as tears.
But you’d also always been like this, trying to diffuse uncomfortable situations with humor instead of meeting them head on, or making a joke at your own expense before someone else could. It hurt less that way, if you could subvert something painful into something lighthearted.
You’d always been admonished for it, by your parents, friends, partners. Had been told that it was inappropriate and that you were too crass, too loud, too much. Which was probably true. It confused you, though, how some people did bond over humor, in the occasional callousness of it, when you were criticized for it. That was something you’d never been able to work out, how it was always wrong when you did it; why you’d never been able to bond with people the same way others did. Well, there was a reason you worked the night shift at a morgue, after all.
You pushed those thoughts away and instead tried to talk yourself up as you stood in the elevator, willing yourself not to be weird.
“Hey, Lena, heard you got another customer for me?” you grinned at her, leaning against the nurses station.
“Sure do, sweets. Her name is Cary West,” she replied with a soft smile. Lena, at least, seemed to like you. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.
She pointed you to the correct room, where Mateo was cleaning up the body. You stood silently as he finished, taking a moment to honor the person they were and the people they’re leaving behind. These moments always felt weird–liminal, in a way. No longer a patient, but not yet ready for the funeral home–they were entrusted in your care in the meantime.
There was no family in the room, which wasn’t abnormal for night shift. Folks had gone home, to sleep or cry or do whatever else one does to process the grief. You always hope you’ll meet the family of the deceased, but you’re not holding on hope on this one. It was 4am, the family would likely be back during the day to take care of funeral arrangements and Ms. West would be long gone by then. Still, though, you thought about her life, her wants, her dreams–tried to insert some humanity where it had been lost.
“Sorry you had to come back up so soon, I know you just got down there with Ms. Deacons,” Mateo said quietly, pulling the sheet over her head.
“Oh no worries, I don’t mind. It's not like she’s gonna talk my ear off.”
He just shook his head at your joke, unimpressed and unamused.
“Looks like Dr. Abbot is at the nurses station. C’mon, and we’ll get the transfer paperwork signed,” he said, holding the door open for you to push the gurney through.
Dr. Abbot looked worn out. His eyes were tired, and the kind smile he usually sported was replaced by a slight frown and a furrow between his brows. His shoulders were drawn up tight, the tension built up there almost looking painful. It must have been a rough night.
You greeted him with a soft smile, and handed over the clipboard for his signature, which he promptly filled out.
He handed you the clipboard before turning his attention back to the gurney. His jaw was clenched tight, a pained look on his face as he squeezed Ms. West’s hand peeking out from the blanket.
“Treat her well for us, please,” he said, voice hoarse.
“Always do, I wouldn’t want to know what the reaper-cussions would be if I didn’t,” you joked before you could think better of it, cringing internally at your lack of tact.
There was a split second of silence, the tension simmering hotly before fully boiling over.
“Jesus fucking christ, can you be serious for one fucking second? This is a hospital, not a fucking comedy club. There are people grieving here. You need to learn to be an adult and keep your fucknig mouth shut,” he boomed, his face red and chest heaving.
He was looming over you now as he spit out, “get the fuck out of my ED.”
Your ears were ringing. You weren’t sure if the department had actually fallen silent or if you’d just temporarily lost the ability to hear.
You couldn’t breathe, oxygen not flowing properly into your lungs. It felt like you’d been punched in the gut, all the air sucked out and replaced with lead.
“S-sorry,” you stuttered out, cheeks burning and throat closing in on itself. Tears were building up quickly in your eyes, but you weren’t going to cry in front of these people; you weren’t going to give them the satisfaction.
You gripped the edge of the gurney and pushed ahead, desperate to get out of there as fast as humanly possible. No one stopped you, no one offered any apologies or sympathies, just watched your humiliated form disappear into the elevator.
The minute the elevator doors closed the tears fell, the hot trails burning your face as you tried to conceal your sobs.
“I’m s-sorry, Ms. West, I shouldn’t be crying like this. I don’t really have much to be upset about in comparison,” you apologized to the corpse, feeling guilty for being so upset when you were literally transporting a dead woman.
You managed to calm yourself down before you reached the morgue. You didn’t want to explain what happened to Elise, didn’t want to recount every embarrassing detail that was already replaying in your head.
You soothed yourself with routine, with the repetitive motions of logging personal effects, filling out reports, and contacting the funeral home to make arrangements.
By the time 7AM rolled around, you were more than ready to get the hell out of there.
The sun is blinding against your puffy eyes. The past two days were a blur, mostly spent crying and replaying the incident over and over. You called out of work, citing a stomach bug. Which wasn’t all that untrue–the thought of encountering anyone in the hospital did make you feel violently ill.
You had already put in for a transfer to day shift, feigning some excuse about your school schedule changing. You couldn’t wait to finish your studies and officially become a mortician. You’d leave the hospital and start your own business, helping people through the grieving and burial process in your own way.
And maybe you’d never have to see Jack Abbot ever again. The thought was as relieving as it was devastating, because you liked him. And you were starting to think maybe he liked you too–at least as a friend or acquaintance.
It was a slow night, which you were thankful for. It meant there weren’t any bodies in the morgue–that there weren’t any deaths so far tonight. So you weren’t too bent out of shape when you got shipped up to the ED to collect a body.
You found Dr. Abbot quickly, signed the necessary paperwork, and wheeled the body out to central.
“Thanks for picking up, I don’t know what the hell’s going on with transpo tonight,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it, we’re actually empty right now. There’s no body there,” you said, a cheeky grin crossing your lips.
And Jack laughed. A full-on, deep-throated laugh. It was one of the most beautiful sounds you’d ever heard. Your chest swelled with pride, and all you could think about was making him do it again.
He shook his head at you, smile still lingering on his face, “what makes a girl like you want to work night shift at the morgue?”
“Girl like me?” you asked coyly, raising your eyebrow at him.
He assessed you, eyes flitting over your face, “yeah, young, smart… pretty.”
You flushed at that, your body getting all warm and tingly, “well, I’m not a mourning person, for one,” you joked, earning another laugh from Jack.
“I, uh, I’m in school for mortuary science,” you continued, giving him a real answer, “I want to be a mortician when I’m done.”
“That’s… admirable,” he said, “you don’t get the glory of saving lives but you do get all the dirty work. Good for you.”
Jack’s attention made you feel like you were on fire–like a white hot ball of flame that would spread given the littlest bit of ammunition. His stare was brazen, unapologetic–you couldn’t look away if you tried.
You cleared your throat, breaking some of the tension, “I guess I should probably get him downstairs,” you said, gesturing to the gurney in front of you.
“I’ll walk you to the elevator,” Jack said, moving to stand by your side. He rested his hand on the small of your back as he guided you to the elevators. The touch was electrifying–you could feel the warmth radiating from him through the layers of scrubs. He was close enough now that you could smell the warm amber of his cologne mixed with his own musky scent. You felt dizzy, and all you wanted to do was press yourself against him, to nestle yourself in the crook of his neck and inhale.
He pressed the button for the elevator when you arrived and helped you wheel the gurney in.
“It was good seein’ you, pretty girl,” he said, and just as the elevator doors were closing, he winked at you.
You were surprised you didn’t turn into a puddle right then and there.
Your chest twisted at the memory. Maybe that’s why his words hurt so much–why they’d sunk into the marrow of your bones, confirming that he thought as lowly of you as you already thought of yourself. He’d given you hope, shown you kindness where no one else in the ED had.
It was stupid, anyway. Thinking that a man like Jack Abbot could feel anything other than disdain for someone like you. Of course the hot, older, accomplished attending wouldn’t want anything to do with the awkward morgue technician.
Every time you thought about it, your heart ached, a dull pang ringing through your chest and reverberating through your body. Tears pooled in your eyes at the mere thought of the incident. It felt like you were back in high school, asking Alex Williams to the school dance just to have him laugh in your face and say he wasn’t going to go with a freak.
You couldn’t dwell on it, though. You had a job to do, bills to pay. You could only hope that day shift was better, or that you could whip yourself into shape and keep your comments to yourself.
“Jesus, why is the body in north 2 still there?” Jack asked, eyes trained on the board ahead of him. Wait times were astronomical and chairs was full to the brim–the sooner they moved the deceased out, the sooner they could move a new patient in.
“Not sure, I called transpo an hour ago, but you know how concerned they are with being timely,” Lena responded.
“What about the morgue? Why haven’t they sent anyone to collect the body?”
Lena looked at him over the top of her glasses, an unimpressed look on her face.
“Oh, you mean that sweet girl who helps us out by transporting bodies when transpo is dicking around? The one you screamed at in front of the entire department? Gosh, I can’t think of a reason she’s not chomping at the bit to come up here,” she deadpanned, fixing Jack with a glare. “Last I heard she switched to day shift. Said she had some personal schedule conflicts, but I think we both know that’s not true.”
Jack winced, guilt coursing through him. He hadn’t meant to make such a scene, to be so cruel. It had just been such a monumentally horrible day, his chest wound so tight and hackles raised that your little joke set him off. It was stupid, too, because Jack had easily made far worse jokes at far more inappropriate times.
It could have easily been anyone else that he snapped at, would have been, if you weren’t there. But you were, and so you bore the brunt of his wrath.
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been replaying the look on your face, the way it crumpled and tears welled up in your pretty eyes. He remembered how your breath hitched, how you shrunk in on yourself and ran away as fast as you could.
It made his chest ache to think about. He wanted to find you, to apologize, but he thought he might just make it worse. And selfishly, he wasn’t sure he was ready for the conversation that would ensue. He assumed he’d see you up here at some point, where he could take you aside and beg for forgiveness–he didn’t think you’d rearrange your entire work schedule just to avoid seeing him.
He wasn’t sure why he acted so indifferently toward you. Or rather, he did–he just didn’t want to acknowledge the way you made him feel. You made him feel giddy–made his face warm and his heart race, like a teenage boy flirting with a pretty girl for the first time. He briefly tried flirting with you, but he was pretty sure you were oblivious to it–either that or you didn’t feel the same. He was hoping for the former.
He hadn’t felt this way about someone since he started dating his wife. Frankly, it made him uncomfortable to think about, made him feel like he was betraying her in some way. He knew that wasn’t true, knew that his wife would want him to be happy, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling.
He’d been talking about it with his therapist, trying to cope with these feelings–trying to get up the courage to ask you out.
And the kicker was he was going to, he was getting bolder, complimenting you and finding any excuse to, respectfully, put his hands on you. And now he’s fucked it all up.
“Shit,” he muttered, scrubbing his hands down his face.
“Yeah, shit. I suggest you take your ass down there and apologize. Properly.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll handle it,” he said absent-mindedly, already wracking his brain for the right words to say to you.
The change to day shift was brutal. Your body wasn’t used to waking up when you were supposed to be going to bed, and vice versa. You were also working less hours to accommodate your school schedule, which was the reason you were on night shift to begin with. But you took it in stride the best you could. Lemonade out of lemons, and all that.
You’d been up to the ED a couple times since the incident, feeling as awkward as ever even though most of them weren’t on shift when Dr. Abbot berated you. You covered day shift a few times, so you weren’t completely unfamiliar with the staff. Dr. Robby seemed nice enough, though you never stuck around long enough to build rapport. It was in and out from now on, speaking as little as you could before you retreated back to the morgue.
You wished you could flat out refuse to go up there, but you didn’t want to punish innocent people just waiting for a bed. The sooner you got the bodies to the morgue, the sooner someone else could be seen by a doctor.
Right now, though, you were sat at your desk, filling out log reports and finishing up paperwork before you inevitably got another body. It was monotonous work, yes, but calming in a way. The mindless action gave your brain a break between decedents–gave you a chance to mourn the person and compartmentalize it away before it ate away at you.
You faintly heard the door at the end of the hall open and close, and assumed Elise was taking her lunch break.
That is, until you heard a painfully familiar voice call out, “Hello? Anybody in here?”
Oh no, why is he here? Attendings rarely visited the morgue–usually only if there was a particularly complex cause of death that they wanted to further examine. But there were no such cases right now, the only bodies currently in custody being a run of the mill STEMI and a GSW to the head–both pretty self-explanatory.
And the night shift hadn’t started yet, the clock reading 5:34pm. There’s no plausible reason for Jack Abbot to be down here right now.
His steps were getting louder–he was almost at your office now.
You panicked. That is the only explanation you have for scrambling up from your desk and darting into the small storage closet to your left. You pressed yourself against the wall to the side, out of view of the frosted glass window. Was this the mature course of action? Absolutely not. But you weren’t sure you could handle seeing him right now. You hadn’t seen him since the incident, had done everything in your power to avoid any and all interactions.
He called out again, and you could see his silhouette standing in the doorway of your office.
Eyes closed, you took deep breaths to try and calm your rapidly beating heart. Hopefully he’d see the empty room and take his leave quickly.
It was quiet, and for a moment you thought he’d left until–knock knock.
“I could be crazy, but I’m pretty sure I heard someone stumble into this closet and slam the door shut,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone.
You didn’t answer, hoping maybe you could convince him he was crazy.
The doorknob rattled, and you instinctively grabbed it, pulling it with all the force you could muster to keep it closed. You weren’t sure why–surely he was much stronger than you and could rip the door open if he really wanted to. And god, why was thinking about how strong he was making you flustered?
It’s not that you were scared of him, you were just… woefully unprepared for this conversation. Despite ruminating over the incident itself, you hadn’t actually pictured a scenario where you’d ever speak to him again. Hadn’t had time to go over it a million times in your head, coming up with the best comeback and constructing the perfect barb to lodge in his soft underbelly, the way he’d done to you.
He sighed, resting his forehead against the glass. “Look, I just wanted to apologize for the other day, if you’ll give me the chance.”
You chewed on the inside of your cheek, considering. You’re not sure that an apology will do much for you, not sure that it’ll quell the pit in your stomach that’s opened and doesn’t show any sign of closing.
You nodded to yourself anyway, letting out a quiet, “go ahead.”
He chucked lightly, “face-to-face, if you don’t mind.”
Damn him, you groaned internally. Taking a deep breath, you slowly opened the door. Jack stood opposite you, hands tucked into the pockets of his scrubs. You crossed your arms and fixed your gaze on your scuffed up shoes, the thought of looking him in the eye daunting and exciting at the same time.
He let out a deep breath, “I’m really sorry for how I acted the other night. It was an exceptionally shitty night, and it wasn’t your fault but I took it out on you when I shouldn’t have.”
You nodded, appreciated the effort it took to come down here and apologize. It did little to soothe your bruised heart, though. There was still a painful twinge in your chest, his words having already wormed their way into your brain and confirmed every worst thought you had about yourself.
“Thank you, Dr. Abbot, apology accepted,” you said curtly, moving past him to get back to your desk.
He stopped you, his hand resting on the bare skin just above your elbow. Goosebumps prickled against your skin from the roughness of his palm. You hated how your body craved more, how you wanted him to slide his hand up to your neck, tilt your head back and kiss you. Traitor.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, “that woman that night, the one you picked up, she died of ovarian cancer,” he said. He looked conflicted, eyes flinty and mouth twisted to the side like he was warring with himself as he bit out the next words, “that’s how–my wife–she died of ovarian cancer.”
Oh. You didn’t know that, didn’t even know he had a wife. Your eyes drifted to his left hand and saw the slightly lighter patch of skin there. Your heart ached and your defenses softened just a tad at the revelation. You could only imagine what it would feel like to lose a patient in the same manner you lost the person closest to you, could imagine the ugly emotions it would pull out of you. It didn’t make what he said okay, but you understood the circumstances that led him to say it.
“And before that we had a kid who died from drowning, and a couple close calls, and a bunch of Dr. Google bullshit. And your joke was just… the straw that broke the camel’s back. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, not like that and not in front of everybody. That wasn’t fair to you, and I’m truly sorry,” he said, and you could feel the sincerity dripping from his words. His eyes were soft and pleading as he looked at you, and once again you found yourself unable to look away.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that–about your wife,” you said softly, not wanting to make it any more painful than it already was, “and I’m sorry about the joke. I know it’s not appropriate, and I’ve been trying to stop, but you know how hard it is to quit unhealthy coping mechanisms,” a small smile lifting the corner of your lips.
He shook his head, “please don’t, you have nothing to apologize for. Gallows humor is how we all get by; I can’t tell you how many off-color jokes I’ve told in my day. It was really the pot calling the kettle black, if I'm being honest,” he said, “If it wasn’t you who set me off, it would’ve been Ellis or Shen, or some other unsuspecting person. I promise you it had so much more to do with me than it did with you.”
You nodded, accepting his explanation. You felt a little lighter, a little less burdened by his words.
“I’d like to make it up to you, if you’ll let me,” he said, “maybe coffee or dinner, if you’re up for it?”
You shook your head, “That’s really not necessary, Dr. Abbot. I meant it, I accept your apology, you don’t have to do anything else.”
He nodded at that, looking a little deflated but otherwise satisfied that you’d accepted his apology.
Jack felt the need to make it up to you anyway.
It started with coffee after his shift ended. The first time, he brought you the most insane coffee order you’d ever seen–a mocha cappuccino with 5 extra shots of espresso, pistachio syrup, vanilla cold foam, caramel AND white mocha drizzle, and salted caramel topping–a monstrosity borne from a recommendation from the woman ahead of him in line. You’re not sure how you didn’t immediately get cavities in all of your teeth.
You couldn’t lie, though, the fact that he made the effort to go out and get coffee after his 12 hour shift was endearing, and once you gave him your coffee order, he got it right each and every time.
It became routine over the next month for Jack to bring you coffee, and even though you didn’t have much time to talk in the morning, you began looking forward to the 10-15 minutes of conversation you shared with him each morning. You never discussed what this was, if it meant anything or if it was just a kind gesture between friends. You certainly hoped it meant something, but you weren’t going to get your hopes up.
You were catching up on paperwork when his text came through.
Jack: Can’t make it for coffee this morning, sweetheart, how about I bring you lunch later?
Your cheeks heated at the pet name. He hadn’t called you that before, and you hoped you weren’t reading into it.
You: sounds great, see you later :)
You spend the morning counting down the minutes until Jack showed up. It only slightly hindered your progress on your paperwork, your mind only occasionally wandering off to think about his pretty pink lips.
It’s noon before you know it, and someone’s rapping their knuckles on the door frame to your office.
“Knock, knock,” Jack said, shooting you a smile as he walked over to your desk. He set down a truly alarming amount of food. You laughed as he took out container after container, the sack resembling a clown car more than a fast food bag.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a variety,” he said, a little bashfully, “you can take home whatever’s left for dinner or lunch tomorrow.”
You selected what you wanted from the smorgasbord he presented you with, and settled into the chair next to him.
It was a little awkward at first. Most of the conversations you’d had with him up to this point were pretty surface level. Even your coffee chats were light-hearted affairs that didn’t really go deeper than what you did over the weekend.
But Jack didn’t let it stay awkward for long, as if he knew that once you started talking, he’d be hard-pressed to get you to stop.
“So, I realized that despite our coffee talks, I don’t really know that much about you. How long have you been a mortuary tech?”
“About a year and a half. I got the job after I started school for mortuary science. Before that I taught for a little bit, but I didn’t really like it and I don’t think I was much good at it. I was a bartender for a long time too.”
“So what made you make the jump to mortuary school?”
“I studied anthropology in college and death culture always really fascinated me, especially the way different cultures deal with grief and the burial process. America is so sanitized, so averse to looking at death straight on. We think death needs to be palatable, that the deceased need to look exactly as they did in life to avoid accepting the fact that our bodies are fundamentally different after death–that they are on their way to being absorbed back into the earth.
“I think the way we treat people in death is just as important as how we treat them in life. To some people, that person on the table is just an assemblage of bones and flesh, but to others that was a friend, a mother or daughter, father or son. And I figured as a mortician, I’d be in a position to offer families the kind of support that helps them work through their grief, not just hide it behind pretty floral arrangements.”
You felt a little shy at the rapt expression on Jack’s face. He was giving you his undivided attention, listening intently to every word that came out of your mouth. You’re not sure any man has ever listened to you as attentively as he was now. Yes, the bar was in hell, but it didn’t make it any less hot.
“Sorry, that was a lot, I didn’t mean to info dump on you,” you said sheepishly.
He shook his head, “Please info dump, I could listen to you talk all day,” he said honestly, “do you want to continue working at the hospital when you’re done or do you want to start your own practice?”
“I don’t think I’ll stay here. I mean, I like helping people through the immediate grief, but I think I just want to help grieving families lay their loved ones to rest in a way that honors the life they lived. I don’t care about selling fancy caskets or high-dollar cemetery plots, I just want to narrow it down to what really matters to preserving and celebrating the individual that was lost.”
Jack nodded, “I don’t remember a lot about planning my wife’s funeral–Robby helped a lot with that–but I do remember it being really… almost commercial, in a way? Like, ‘do you want cedar or oak for the coffin? Do you want the casket lined in silk or velvet?’” he said, laughing bitterly, “like it was a fashion show or something, not the vessel my wife was going to be buried in. I couldn’t give less of a fuck what the damn thing was lined in.”
You laid your hand on top of his, giving it a comforting squeeze as he continued. It made your heart swell that he felt comfortable enough to talk about his wife with you.
“I mean, they were very compassionate, but it always felt like a business–which I get, we’re a capitalist society, but that’s not exactly what you want to feel when you’re burying someone,”
You nodded, “that’s probably the thing that bothers me the most about this industry. Sometimes it seems like profit is the priority, and the real, hurting people come second.”
Jack just looked at you with soft eyes, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling as he smiled at you. He turned your hand over in his, tracing the lines of your palm with his thumb.
“I think you’re going to be an amazing mortician,” he said, without an ounce of amusement or teasing, just pure honesty. “I think you’re exactly the kind of person that people want around them when they're going through the worst days of their lives.”
You couldn’t help the tears that pricked at the corners of your eyes. It was the kindest thing someone had said to you about your career path, except maybe Elise. And it was nice to shed happy tears over something Jack Abbot said instead of embarrassed ones.
You talked long after your lunch break was over, but Elise was out and you didn’t have any pressing work to get to at the moment, so you figured there was no harm, no foul.
But eventually he had to leave to get ready for his shift, and you did have work to do, though you’d gladly forsake it for a few more minutes with him.
You got up to dispose of your trash and walked him to the door.
“Lunch was really nice,” he murmured, resting his hand on your arm, right above your elbow.
Your breath hitched at the contact and goosebumps prickled up and down your arms. You gaze was locked on his, unable to look away, “yeah, I really enjoyed it,” you said breathily, your heart already racing.
He moved closer, settling his hands on your waist, and backed you up slowly until the back of your knees hit your desk.
You leaned back against your desk, widening your stance to allow Jack to step between your legs. His body was warm against you, his hands running up and down your sides soothingly.
“Is this okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw. You could feel his breath against your lips, so close but still so far away.
You nodded, a pathetic mewl leaving your lips without permission. It was embarrassing how badly you wanted to kiss this man.
He pressed closer, his lips just barely grazing yours, his nose slightly bumping your cheek. You wrapped your arms loosely around his neck, eyes fluttering shut as you moved to close the miniscule distance between your lips–
CLANG!
The door down the hall slammed shut, and hurried footsteps approached your office.
You nearly jumped out of your skin and stumbled back onto the desk, out of Jack’s grasp. He seemed just as shocked, his hand clutching his chest in surprise.
A second later Elise came rushing into the room, saying something about a mass casualty event and how you needed to make as much room down here as you could to prepare for the inevitable. You nodded, turning to Jack to apologize, but he beat you to it.
“Shit, I gotta go, sweetheart, they’re probably gonna call all-hands-on-deck,” he said, a genuinely mournful look on his face.
“Yeah, of course. I hope it’s not too bad,” you said, equally as disappointed, but understanding. Duty calls.
He wrapped you up in a tight hug, your cheek resting against his firm chest. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to savor his embrace for a moment before he had to go.
“We’ll finish this later, yeah?” he asked against your hair, his hand rubbing circles on your back.
You smiled against his chest and nodded, “yes, please.”
He pulled away and planted a chaste kiss to your cheek before heading out.
“What was that all about?” Elise questioned, raising her eyebrows at you.
You didn’t say anything–your hot cheeks and dopey grin were worth a thousand words.
You were called up to the ED several times, each time worse than the last by the looks of the staff. It still felt a little awkward being in the emergency department. Even though most of the people here weren’t on shift when Jack yelled at you, it still felt like the department went still when you walked in, people stopping and staring like you were some sideshow circus freak.
You were back up here collecting yet another soul, waiting for someone to sign off on the transfer. It seemed like things had calmed down, the worst of it over now. You were lost in thought at the nurses station, picking at the skin around your nails anxiously.
You hoped Jack would be the one to come over and sign the paperwork–hoped you’d catch another glimpse of him before your shift was over. All you could think about all day was that almost-kiss you shared with him. You couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto your face every time you thought about it, which meant you basically had a permanent grin affixed to your face.
You’re only pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of hushed voices to your left. You glanced over and saw two nurses you didn’t recognize taking a break and engaging in some friendly workplace gossip. Or so you thought.
“–so happy about?” a nurse whispered incredulously.
“Probably daydreaming about Dr. Abbot,” another said, her tone most likely accompanied by an eye roll.
“God, when is she going to get a grip? Her fawning over him is not cute.”
“Yeah, I think he just doesn’t know how to let her down… I mean when he yelled at her she changed her whole schedule, he probably feels guilty.”
“True. Maybe she’ll realize how embarrassing it is to be so down bad for a man she has no chance with.”
You stopped listening after that, crestfallen and heartbroken all over again. The illusion of the past month shattered and the feelings from before came roaring back full force.
Your chest twisted painfully–like someone had grabbed ahold of your heart and squeezed, the squishy flesh bulging between their fingers. Your throat ached, tears surely not far behind.
You knew you shouldn’t put too much stock in what these two random nurses were saying. You knew that they likely had no idea what they were talking about, that they were just mean girls blowing off steam and you seemed to be the target of it–like always.
But there was the little gremlin in the back of your brain, the one that told you everything they said was true. That Jack just felt guilty, that he was making himself feel better for the way he treated you. Insecurity wrapped itself around you like a vise, squeezing around you like a boa constrictor, until it was the only thing you could feel.
And that almost-kiss? Well, he was a man, after all. Maybe he was just overcome with the physical urge to kiss you, get in your pants if he could. But he wasn’t that kind of man, was he? You didn’t want to think so, but all rational thought was obscured by the hurt blooming in your chest that you couldn’t be sure.
You startled at the hand on your shoulder. You looked up to see Dr. Robby standing there, brows furrowed in concern. Squeaking out an apology, you handed him the transfer paperwork.
“I called your name three times, you okay?” he asked, flipping through the pages and signing where appropriate.
“Fine,” you smiled, not trusting your voice not to break.
He looked skeptical, but didn’t push.
“Alright, all done. Hopefully that’ll be it, at least from the mass cas,” he said, handing back the paperwork. “We have a trauma counsellor available if you need to talk to someone,” he said before backing away to move onto the next patient.
You chuckled at that. Of course he thought you were troubled by the amount of death that occurred today. But no, here you were, post mass casualty, and you were more concerned about a man than you were about the people that had died tonight. How fucked up were you?
Jack showed up with coffee the next morning like usual, setting the paper cup down on your desk, “here you go, sweetheart.”
“Thank you,” you said without looking up from your paperwork. You tasted acid in your throat, the words from the nurses station echoing in your head in an ugly cacophony. You’d memorized them by heart over the past 12 hours, twisting and turning in bed as they invaded your mind against your will.
He just doesn’t know how to let her down.
He probably feels guilty.
Her fawning over him is not cute.
You cleared your throat, “you really don’t have to do this anymore, you know,” you said nonchalantly, like it wasn’t tearing your heart out to say.
He was quiet for a moment. “I know… I do it because I want to, because I like spending time with you,” he said, head cocked and brow furrowed.
“Sure,” you muttered under your breath.
“What was that?”
You sighed and set your pen down, shifting your full attention to him, “I’m just saying you don’t have to prostrate yourself in front of me because you feel guilty, Jack. You’ve done your penance, if that’s all this is. You’re forgiven, no hard feelings.”
Your throat was tight, but your voice didn’t waver. You blinked back tears furiously as he stared at you, mouth agape. He looked a little more disheveled than usual, his eyes tired and the lines on his face a little more pronounced, like he’d been frowning all night. Obviously, he worked like 16 hours last night. You felt another wave of guilt rush over you–he was wasting his much needed rest time to come placate you.
He crossed his arms, shaking his head in confusion, “What the hell are you talking about? Where is this coming from?”
You stood up and started behind your desk, feeling restless and hurt and foolish.
“You just–you don’t have to hang around me because you feel bad or something,” you said, “you’ve more than apologized. I just wish you didn’t make me feel like–like…” you trailed off, ragged breaths tearing through your chest. It was getting harder to force the words out, tears falling down your cheeks in earnest now.
“Like what?”
“Like this means something!” you choked out. God, you felt so silly. Aw, is someone upset that their crush doesn’t like them back?
He looked at you in disbelief, “It does mean something,” he said, rounding your desk and stopping in front of you–effectively ceasing your pacing.
“Please don’t lie to me,” you hiccuped, your bottom lip trembling violently, “I know I’m too much, I know no one at the Pitt likes me–you don’t have to pretend you do.” You fixed your gaze to the floor–you didn’t think you could handle the pitying look that was undoubtedly in his eyes.
“Hey, hey, look at me,” he said, cupping your face between his large hands. You tried to wiggle away, but his grip was unwavering–he wasn’t going to let you look away from him. He brushed away your tears, “I don’t know what ideas you’ve gotten into that pretty little head of yours, but if you think I’m anything but smitten with you, you’re dead wrong.”
You laughed weakly, “who’s making bad jokes now?”
He didn’t take the bait, didn’t let you deflect from the topic at hand. He pinned you with his eyes, his gaze steady as he delivered his next words.
“I’m serious. I need you to know that I’m being honest with you when I say this: I’ve been scared for a long time to make a move on you, and I’m not letting anything–not even you–get in the way now, okay?
“I’ve liked you for a while now, pretty girl. You’re the best part of my day, the only thing keepin’ me going some days. I love your smile, your laugh, the way your face lights up when you talk about something you’re passionate about. I love the way you care about people, alive and dead, and I love your jokes, even if they can be a little off color.
“And I can’t tell you how much I regret how I treated you. The only silver lining is that it kicked my ass into gear, made me realize I’ve been an idiot for waiting so long to make you mine. You’re not too much, and even if you were, I’d want more–I want everything you’re willing to give me.”
You almost couldn’t comprehend the words coming out of his mouth, but he was nothing but sincere. His eyes pleaded with you to believe him, to give him a chance–and you desperately wanted to.
“You mean that?” you asked, gnawing at your lip anxiously. You didn’t want to get your hopes up just to have them crushed again.
“With all my heart,” he said, grabbing your hand and placing it over his heart. It was racing just as fast as yours was. “This is how I feel every time I see you, sweetheart. Feel like I should be hooked up to a monitor sometimes,” he joked.
“I…I like you too. I have since the day I met you. But I’m scared,” you swallowed thickly, voice small as you finished, “I don’t want to get hurt.”
“I know, sweetheart, I am too. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this–haven’t since my wife–and I don’t want to fuck it up. We’re in this together, as long as you’ll have me,”
“I want you,” you whispered, placing your hand on the side of his neck tentatively.
He grabbed your waist and backed you up against your desk, replicating your previous position from yesterday.
“Can I kiss you now, sweetheart? Haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since we were interrupted,” he asked, thumb stroking your cheek.
You nodded, “me either,” you said, heart pounding as he leaned in.
His lips were soft when they met yours. It was tentative–just a slow, gentle press of his lips against yours, like he was trying to maintain some level of decorum.
He started to pull back, and you whined at the loss of contact. You fisted your hands in his scrub top and pulled him back in, your mouths meeting in an uncoordinated mash of teeth. He chuckled against you, “greedy girl,” he murmured, steadying your head in his hands and deepening the kiss.
He tamped down your eagerness but didn’t erase any of the heat building between you–just kept you right where he wanted you. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip and you readily opened your mouth for him, desperate to taste him. He licked into your mouth, tongue hot as it tangled with yours. You were greedy, sucking and lapping and nipping at his tongue and lips, getting messy with it and thoroughly forgetting where you were and how inappropriate a setting this was.
You were like horny teenagers, hands grabbing at whatever bits of flesh they could reach, tangling in each other’s hair, and moaning louder than was appropriate.
When you finally pulled back, you were both gasping for air, chests heaving against each other. Jack rested his forehead against yours as he caught his breath. You didn’t want to waste another moment not kissing him, though, so you began peppering his face with kisses–to his nose, cheeks, chin, wherever you could reach.
He laughed at the onslaught, craning his head to the side to give you access to his neck, which you happily latched onto, “you’re insatiable, aren’t you?”
“I guess you’ll have to find out,” you replied as you pulled away, biting your lip and batting your eyelashes at him.
He shook his head fondly at you, “Now, as much as I’d like to do very, very inappropriate things to you right now, I came here this morning planning to ask you out to dinner. Would you allow me to ask you out properly now, sweetheart? Let me be a gentleman?” he asked, thumbs stroking your jaw.
You nodded, still dizzy from his kiss–still reeling from the fact that Jack actually liked you.
“Would you please make me the happiest man in the world, and accompany me to dinner at Altius tomorrow night at 7?”
“I’d love to,” you grinned, pulling him in for another kiss.
“And after, we'll see just how insatiable you are.”
A/N: shoutout to my fellow anthropology majors lol glad that my degree is coming in handy for something cause its certainly not a job
★ summary: a long night shift, bath oil, and a shower chair are a combination for disaster, no matter how much you convince yourself it isn’t
★ pairing: jack abbot x reader
★ warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, p in v, fingering, overstimulation, dirty talk, shower sex, shower sex injuries, penile injuries, head injures, medical inaccuracies, mentions of surgery & medical procedures
★ word count: 5.9k words
★ notes: mark sloan and lexie grey walked so mohabbot could run btw this could kinda be seen as a crack fic but i could not stop thinking of that greys episode and my favorite old man hahahah
It was one of those nights where the hours dragged. There were only a few cons to the night shift, and this was one of them. It’s all that you could think about, with each chart you rushed through. You were practically counting down the seconds. By the time day shift started trickling into the ED, you were already halfway clocked out, bouncing on your heels with that restless, wired exhaustion that came from running on nothing but adrenaline and bad coffee.
You wanted nothing more than to go home eat a nice steak, sink into a warm bath, and fuck your boyfriend until you fell asleep. Preferably in that order. It was the perfect way to start your weekend off.
Jack wasn’t any better. He moved through the handoff with Robby like he was being timed, words clipped but precise, like there was a fire lit underneath him. There was something almost boyish about the way he glanced at you with each pass, like you were both in on the same secret, the same escape plan. The ache for domestic bliss was stronger than socializing with your coworkers. You almost cried in relief when you slipped your scrubs off, grabbing your bag from your locker.
Jack’s hand came up to cage you against your locker, a smirk on his tired face. “I have a bottle of wine, wagyu, and a bath oil with your name on it, sweetheart.”
You could’ve moaned right then and there, leaning your head back on the hard metal. “Please take me home.”
“Your wish is my command.” He let out a laugh, sipping your hand in his. You all but skipped to his truck, hands swinging in between you two like two giddy high schoolers in love. It always felt like this with him, it was love in its purest form. Everything was so easy, the two of you just fit together.
By the time you got to your place, the world had shrunk down to something simple. The morning light slipped through the blackout curtains you had yet to close. You both filtered into the kitchen, making you both mugs of tea while he prepared the steak.
He cooked while you leaned against the counter, stealing pieces of steak off the cutting board and earning yourself a look that was more fond than annoyed. Once he was sick of your stealing, he fed you a piece and you made sure to keep his fingers in your mouth longer than necessary. He took his prosthetic off, letting your bare feet lie in his lap as you two quietly ate across from each other at the table.
The dishes were discarded in the dishwasher as he scrolled through his phone for a few minutes.
“D’you want your crutches?” You asked softly, watching his tired eyes.
He nodded, “Please, ma'am.”
You returned with them, following behind him slowly as you slipped into the bathroom. It was a more comfortable silence as you moved around each other, a warmed bath that you both slowly sank into. The bathroom that Jack himself spent months designing with exactly this in mind, a tub that slotted the two of you perfectly. Your legs tangled together as his fingers dug harshly into your shoulders, easing out the tension of the day.
The lavender scented oil filled your senses as you relaxed into him, “Fuck, you’re so good at that.” You sighed dreamily.
You could feel his chest rumble with laughter from beneath you, the water sloshing around. “Wanna see what else I can do with these hands?” He teased, moving his hands around to grope your tits gently.
“You’re so ridiculous." You mumbled, absolutely no bite in your tone.
A moan left your lips as his callused fingers rolled your hardened nipples gently. Pulling and tugging with each grasp. His cock was already hard against your back, making your hips roll.
“Thought you w-wanted to wait until after we shower?” You managed to get out, one of his hands traveling down your oil-slicked skin. They found purchase between your legs easily, spreading you open for him.
“I do,” His lips kissed your neck, “To fuck you. I can make you cum once before we shower. Right?”
It’s a rhetorical question, but you still find yourself nodding frantically.
He knows your body like the back of his hand, as his damp fingers slide through your slick folds. He knew exactly where to rub, when to slip his large fingers in your entrance. Your legs are trembling in record time, two fingers stretching you wide while his other hand pinches your tits roughly, just the way you like it.
“Fuck,” You moan, “Right there.”
He hums, curling his fingers even deeper inside you. The water is sloshing over the side of the tub, but neither of you could care less. “I know, sweetheart. Feel your tight little cunt squeezing me.”
You pant out his name, one of your hands gripping his forearm to steady yourself. “I-I’m gonna-“
“You gonna cum?” He whispered, teeth nibbling at your earlobe. “Gonna cum all over my fingers?”
“Yes, yes baby.” You whimpered, as he pulled you harshly into your orgasm. Your back was arching against him as he pinned you to him, unrelenting with his movements as he fucked you through it.
Whispering disgusting praises as you spasmed around him, “There you go, can you feel you cumming around me?” He let out a throaty groan, “Do you want more? Want me to keep fucking you, baby? Until you’re begging me to stop? I think she’d like that.”
“Jack-“
“I think you deserve it don’t you?” He mocked playfully, his thumb coming up to swipe at your swollen clit. “You had such a hard day baby, let me make you forget it.”
Your nails are digging harshly into his arm, no doubt leaving half-moon-shaped indents. You’re pliant in his hold, unable to breathe as he pulls another orgasm out of you. Then another, and he’s aiming for a third when you can no longer see straight.
Your eyes are glazed, legs trembling as his fingers continue fucking in and out of your squelching cunt. The water has gone cold, and his hand is cramping, but he didn’t care if he died right here and now, he wasn't stopping until you tapped out.
And tapped out you did, “O-okay, code.” You whined out, using the safe word you two had established long ago.
He ceased his movements, slowly retreating his hand. Kisses were trailed up and down your neck, “You did so well for me, you feeling okay?”
“Perfect,” You admitted, despite the sensitivity between your legs. “Just wanna feel you.”
With a kiss to your shoulder, he was helping you crawl out of the bath. “Let me start the shower and then we can get you in bed, how’s that?”
You nod, taking ample time to admire his physique as he gets up and hobbles over to the walk-in. “You’re so hot.” You giggle, slipping into the glass shower with him. By the time he’s got himself settled on his shower chair, you already have a devilish grin on your face. Especially noticing his cock, still erect and heavy between his legs. The tip was red and flushed from the lack of attention. You have half a mind to drop to your knees, suckling the mushroom tip into your mouth as you have hundreds of times before.
He sees your face, shaking his head playfully. “Nope, we stink like a hospital and you’re all oily.”
You stick your bottom lip out at him, “But-“
“Let me wash your hair.” He hums instead, the two of you going into a short rhythm of showering together. His hands were in your hair, careful and unhurried as he worked shampoo through the strands. You did the same to him, letting your hands run through his scalp. You pulled his face against yours, lips moving together lazily. His jaw opened, his tongue slipping inside as the water still hit you from the double showerheads.
“Honey,” You panted into his mouth, “I need you.”
“Sweetheart-“
You ignored him, letting your impulsive thoughts take over. You grabbed the back of his shower chair, straddling him. This, was new. Through all the time together you never once joined him, but you knew the weight limit was high enough.
“Little minx.” He whispered, teeth nipping at your tit as your wet cunt hovered above his cock. He was so close, all you had to do was move and he’d be sheathed inside of you.
“Come on,” You begged, leaning down to rub his tip against your clit, nudging him against your entrance enough to make his breath hitch. “Let me fuck you, I know you want it. Let me take care of you.”
Now there were multiple reasons shower sex hadn’t been a staple in your relationship, him being an amputee made him nervous in slippery (literally) situations if something were to happen. You were both also ER doctors, and you had seen enough injuries combined to turn you off of it. But right now with your cunt grinding against him, suddenly not a single one of those thoughts even crossed his mind.
His hands gripped your slippery hips, nodding gruffly. “Fuck, okay. Be a good girl.”
You almost cried out in relief, letting your hips slowly lower down on him. Both of your breaths get caught in your throat by the feeling. No matter how many times you had sex, the stretch of him would make your toes curl each time. By the time your hips met his, you were already trembling.
“Yeah,” You nodded blissfully, “M’ gonna be your good girl.”
“You always are.” He grunted, helping you lift your hips up and down on him.
Between the feeling of his fat cock filling you and the water hitting your skin, you were in ecstasy. Slippery hands were pulling at each other with fever, as you grinded into him. Your hands moved from the chair to his shoulders, palms heavy as you began to bounce. He was hitting every deep spot inside of you that had you seeing stars.
“Fuck, right there.” You cried out, when one of his hands gripped your ass. Helping you fuck yourself on him. The messy grind of the patch of hair scratching against your clit had your eyes slipping closed. Your hands slipped down to his shoulders, which was your first mistake.
You’re not quite sure what happened next, you heard Jack let out a moan. You felt his hips shift upwards, and you felt his hands fail at pulling your slippery skin back into his lap. There’s nothing to grab, nothing to steady yourself with, as your body slides. You feel him slip out of you, a sickening pop before your head cracks hard against the tile with an awful sound that seems to echo inside your skull.
“Fuck” it rips out of you, sharp and breathless, your vision flashing white as you lie there.
Jack moves on instinct, but his body goes rigid. A sudden throbbing of pain between his legs makes him queasy, forcing him to slump back in the chair. There’s not enough air in his lungs to yell, or ask if you’re okay. He breaths out shakily, teeth clenched.
Your head is throbbing. It’s a deep, pulsing pain that makes your stomach twist, nausea already crawling up your throat, and when you blink, your vision lags a half-second behind. You reach up on instinct, fingers coming away wet, and you don’t even have to look to know it’s blood.
“Okay,” you breathe, except it comes out uneven, shaky. “Okay, I’m fine. I’m fine.”
Jack doesn’t answer.
The shower is still going, steam surrounding both of you.
You look at him, really look this time, and your chest tightens. He’s pale under the heat, jaw locked so hard it’s trembling, breath coming in short, controlled bursts, as if he lets it slip even a little he’s going to lose it completely.
”J-jack,” You sit up, way too quickly for someone suffering a head injury, and have to brace yourself with the leg of the chair. “Are you okay?”
”Don’t-” he cuts himself off, breathing through his teeth. “Don’t move so fast.”
“Jack, are you okay?” You pant out, managing to fumble around to shut the water off before turning back to him.
He just nods, a very unconvincing nod that makes him wince in pain from the slightest of movement. It takes a moment for your vision to unblur, the room spinning. You lean back against the tile, eyes closing for half a second before you force them open again.
“Okay,” you say, as if you say it enough it’ll be true. “I didn’t black out. That’s good. That’s-” you wince, pressing your fingers more firmly to your head. “That’s good.”
Jack lets out a shaky breath that almost sounds like a laugh, except there’s nothing funny in it.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Great. Love that for you.”
“Jack-“
“I t-think it’s broken.” He manages to get out, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping the safety railing.
“What’s broken-“ You cut yourself off, opening your eyes, and glancing down, then immediately regret it when you see the source of his pain. His penis is red and bent at an angle that was in no way natural.
“Oh my god.” You cry, the movement making you wince in pain.
“Baby-“
”Yes?” You’re freaking out now.
“Are you okay?” He asks, wanting nothing more than to lean down and assess you but he can’t. He feels useless and it’s making his hands tremble.
“Yes, I think so.” You admit, “Concussion, probably. I need to stop the b-bleeding and get my phone.”
Suddenly you’re sitting up, opening the shower door.
“Hey,” he says, softer now, strained. “Lie down. Just, just sit for a second longer.”
“I can’t,” you whisper, because if you sit, you’re not sure you’re getting back up. “I need to get to my phone.”
You don’t give yourself time to think about it.
You lower yourself quickly, down to your hands and knees, the cold tile biting into your skin. The movement sends a sharp spike of pain through your head, and you squeeze your eyes shut for a second, waiting for the world to steady.
“Jesus,” Jack breathes, horrified. “Don’t do that, are you serious right now?”
“Do you have a better idea?” you mutter, already starting to move. You manage to crawl into the bathroom, grab your phone off the counter, just enough to call 911.
“911 what’s your emergency?” The operator asks on speaker phone as you rummage around for a washcloth to apply to your head.
You give them the address, “Head lac bleeding heavily, and a possible penile fracture in the older male.” Saying it out loud nearly made you want to hang up, letting yourself bleed out on the floor out of embarrassment.
There’s a shuffle around on the line before a, “Where in the house are you located?”
“Bathroom. Back end of the house.” You speak through gritted teeth, using the counter to pull yourself up to your feet as the operator lets you know they’re on the way.
Jack hears this and does not like it.
Behind you, you can hear him trying to move, failing, and swearing under his breath.
“Stay there,” you call back, sharper than you mean to. “Don’t be stupid.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” he shoots back, but there’s no bite to it, just worry.
“I don’t wanna see the paramedics' tits out do you?”
He’s quiet besides his occasional groan of pain.
You make it to the bedroom by sheer stubbornness alone, dragging yourself up along the edge of the bed until you manage to grab underwear and a shirt. You walk back, slowly, with a robe in hand. You’re able to see a little clearer now, stumbling a little to your knees next to him in the damp shower.
“Let me look.” You whisper, trying to get him to move his hand that was cupping himself. He releases with a wince, “S-small hematoma forming, it doesn’t look broken. Definitely fractured, fuck baby I’m so fucking sorry.”
“It’s okay,” He breathed out as you covered him as best you could with the robe. “I’m more worried about you, do you know your name? Where are you?”
You told him, even shining your phone flashlight in your eyes to appease him.
“Pupils seem reactive, but this is all a little unorthodox.” He cried out, groaning softly.
If you didn’t feel like you were going to pass out you would have laughed at the ridiculousness of this situation. He’s naked in a shower chair with a broken penis, and you’re wet and bleeding all over the place.
“I love you.” You said softly, frowning as you kept direct pressure on your wound.
“I love you too, sweetheart.” He sighed, hearing the knock on the front door.
“EMS!” They announce, making you sigh.
They move in quickly, one coming to you, the other straight to him. Hands are careful but efficient.
“Ma’am, I’m gonna help you up, alright?” the woman by you says, fingers light at your arm.
“I can stand,” you insist automatically.
“Yeah,” she replies, not even looking convinced, “we’re still gonna help.”
You let him, legs shaky as you’re pulled upright, your head immediately protesting the movement. The second you’re steady, her hand replaces yours at your temple, firm pressure against the bleeding..
Behind you, Jack sucks in a sharp one of his own as they try to shift him.
“Easy, easy,” the other paramedic says, already bracing him. “Don’t put weight there.”
“Wasn’t planning on that either,” Jack grits out.
You glance over, stomach twisting. “Hey, his leg,” you add quickly. “His prosthetic, is in the bedroom, by the bed. Just so we have it.”
“Got it,” one of them says without missing a beat, calling it out as someone ducks away to grab it.
God.
They get Jack onto the gurney with slow, careful movements, his jaw locked the entire time, breath coming out in controlled bursts that fool absolutely no one. You’re guided out after, arm slung loosely around one paramedic’s shoulders despite your weak attempts to act like you don’t need it.
”Can we go anywhere but PTMC?” You croak out, your hand finding Jack’s as they start an IV on him. He’s fumbling about veins, the paramedic snarking about how doctors are the worst patients.
“Nope,” The lady sighed, “Closest trauma center, this isn’t Uber.”
You’d roll your eyes if it didn’t hurt to keep them open.
The ride is short, too short. You can hear the rig park, the driver hop out, and debrief.
“Male, late forties, early fifties, possible penile fracture,” he calls out, not even hesitating, not even lowering his voice. “Female, early thirties, head lac, definite concussion, bleeding heavily but controlled.”
There’s a beat, just long enough for it to land.
Then Robby’s voice cuts in, incredulous and sharp with recognition already creeping in. “How the hell did that happen?”
And you know what’s coming next, but you can’t stop it.
“Kinky shower sex, probably.”
The paramedic laughs as he says it, like it’s just another call, just another story to file away, and you feel something inside you shrivel up and die on the spot. Suddenly every time you’ve laughed at a patient's comedic accidents is no longer funny.
When the rig doors open, it’s your worst nightmare as Robby and Langdon stare up at you. Langdon’s hands pause at where he was pulling his gloves up, Robby’s face is furrowed in confusion.
“Y/n?” Langdon asks, at the same time as Robby asks, “Abbot?”
Jack lets out a low, miserable groan from the gurney, dragging a hand down his face as if he could physically erase the situation. “I’m not staying here,” he mutters, voice rough and tight. “We said not PTMC.”
“Hi.” You wave awkwardly, letting the paramedic guide you out.
“Brother what the hell happened?” Robby asked, his hand on the gurney as Jack kept his eyes closed. Hoping to wake up from this nightmare. “Never mind, don’t answer that.”
“Now we know why you ran out at shift change.” Langdon laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.
The second you try to step down, the world tilts hard enough that your knees nearly give out, and suddenly there are hands on you again. Steadying, guiding, and lowering you into a wheelchair before you can argue your way out of it. Langdon’s the one who does it, surprisingly careful despite the grin he’s still trying to suppress, his hands firm on your shoulders as he eases you down.
“Alright,” he says, voice lighter than it should be given the situation, “easy. Let’s not add anything else to the list today, yeah?”
You glare up at him, weak but committed. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Oh, immensely,” he says without hesitation, and then, like he remembers he’s supposed to be at least somewhat professional, he adds, “but also, you look like shit.”
“Thank you,” you mutter.
“Anytime.” He grinned, wheeling you into the bay like a kid who just got his hand in the candy bowl. “So I guess I don’t have to ask what you got up to after your shift was over.”
“This is why your patient satisfaction scores are shitty.” You groaned.
As they start wheeling Jack further in, Robby leans slightly closer to him, voice dropping just enough to feel conspiratorial, even as the corner of his mouth pulls.
“We’ll keep this quiet,” he says, like it’s a promise. Then, louder, glancing over his shoulder, “Right, Langdon?”
Langdon doesn’t even slow down behind your chair.
He just laughs full, unrestrained this time, the sound echoing just enough in the bay to make your stomach drop all over again, as he starts pushing you forward, guiding you into the bright, chaotic familiarity of the ED.
“For Jack’s sake, Langdon please.” You sigh, wincing at the lights.
“What the hell is going on here?” Dana shrieks, and you can picture her now. Eyes wide, pushing her glasses down her face.
Your eyes are shut in pain, “Missed you, Dana.” You grumble as she sends you to the empty private rooms. You hear the gasps, the whispers of your names
You know at this moment, that you two are never, ever going to live this down.
Robby disappears with Jack almost immediately, steering the gurney down the hall with a speed that’s just a little too purposeful to be casual. You catch a glimpse of Jack’s face as he’s wheeled away, tight, pale, jaw locked and then he’s gone behind a curtain
You’re in a gown and in a room faster than 90% of the patients you see on a normal basis.
“Alright,” Langdon says, snapping on gloves as he rolls a stool over in front of you, like this is just another patient, just another day. Except his mouth is already twitching. “Let’s take a look at you, disaster.”
Mel hovers just behind him, trying very hard to look professional and not like she’s dying to ask questions out of curiosity.
“I hate you,” you mutter.
“Yeah, yeah,” he waves it off, leaning in slightly. “Follow my finger.”
You do, even though your head throbs with every small movement, your eyes lagging just slightly before catching up.
“Any nausea?”
“Yes.”
“Double vision?”
“…a little.”
“Perfect,” he says, completely unfazed. “Love that. You’re doing great. You’re next up for a CT.”
“I’m gonna take a look at this head lac.” Mel mumbles, unable to look you in the eyes. The washcloth and gauze peel off with a sickening squelch.
“Definitely going to need a few stitches” She assures him, helping wipe some of the blood off his face.
“So,” he continues, far too casually, as he’s shining a light into your eyes. “You wanna walk me through how exactly this happened, or-“
“Absolutely, fucking not.”
“Come on,” He fake pouts, putting the penlight back in his scrubs.
“Langdon.” You grumble, sending a death glare his way.
“Alright. “ He held his hands up in a faux protest. “Concussion’s likely, head lac we’ll get cleaned up after imaging. Try not to fall again, yeah?”
“Noted.”
Right as he steps back, the curtain shifts and Robby slips in, pulling off one glove as he looks between you and Langdon.
“How is she?” he asks, making you sit up straighter much to Mel’s protests.
“Concussed, bleeding, but alive,” Langdon replies. “Disappointing, I know.”
Robby ignores him, stepping closer to you. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you echo, studying his face. “How is he?”
Robby winces, and your stomach drops. “He’s more worried about you, threatened me if I didn’t come down here.”
“Sounds like him,” You frowned, “How is he? Actually?”
Robby scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, “Urology said it’s not broken, a definite fracture. He’s going to need surgery, but it’s so minor they don’t seem worried.”
“God,” You cover your eyes with your hands, “This is all my fault.”
There’s a tense silence before Robby speaks again, “Abbot said you might have hurt yourself upon…. impact. Mel, would you do a pelvic? So I don’t get scolded by the drugged up solider upstairs?”
She nods, making you whine even more. You’re convinced that if you keep hiding your face in your hands you’ll disappear.
“I’ll keep an eye on him, alright? I promise.” Robby says, leaving you with a soft pat on the shoulder.
You nod, swallowing hard. “Okay.”
“Do you want me to leave?” Langdon asks softly, gone is the playful coworker and the empathetic friend has taken his place.
You shook your head, “S’okay. No offence to you Mel.”
“None taken.” She smiles widely, prepping the stirrups for you.
Langdon’s taken a spot at the top of the bed, wiping up the rest of the blood from your neck and checking the temporary clips closing the wound together.
You wince badly once or twice during Mel’s workup, making Langdon hover.
“Seems like some internal and external bruising, nothing to worry about. Obviously restrain from sexual intercourse and I wouldn’t even use tampons for the time being to avoid irritation.” She said, slipping her gloves off and letting you pull your legs back up on the bed.
“Oh, we don’t have to worry about that.” You say, before it can even leave Langdon’s lips.
“Do you need anything before CT?” She asks.
“A new life,” you mutter.
“Not in stock, I’m afraid,” Langdon says. “We checked.”
They wheel you out not long after, the hallway lights too bright overhead, the movement making your head throb in slow, steady pulses. The hospital feels different on your back, being pushed, people looking at you instead of through you. By the time you’re coming back from CT, word has definitely spread.
Santos is the first one you see, rounding the corner with Whittaker right behind her, both of them mid-conversation before they spot you. They stop short almost in sync.
”Y/n?” She asks, walking beside your bed, that Kim is pushing you on, “Are you okay?”
“Don’t I look okay?” You teased, pointing to the very large bandage around your head.
She followed you into the room, pulling up your chart as you’re parked back into place. “CT looks clean, can I stitch you up?”
Before you can answer Langdon is swinging open the door, “Vulture, she’s my patient.”
Santos rolls her eyes at him, throwing her hands up. But she’s not leaving yet, she turns on her feet to smirk at you.
“….did you really break Abbot’s dick?” she asks.
“Out.” Langdon urges, closing the door behind her.
“My life’s ruined.” You frowned, “Jack’s gonna leave me and everyone here thinks I’m some laughing stock. How long until money is put on this?”
”Hey, hey,” He pushes his chair next to the bed, “None of that is true. If anything depending on what you did before this Abbot’s probably proposing soon.”
“Not funny,”
“I’m not even joking,” He smiled, covering your hand with his. “He loves you, and we all care about you. It’s a funny situation, you’ll realize once you’re not in it.”
By the time he finishes stitching you up, the world has narrowed down to something dull and manageable. You’d hope with all the pain meds they’ve pumped into you. Your head is wrapped, the bleeding stopped, the sharp edge of everything sanded down into a heavy, lingering ache. The CT is clear. No bleed, no fracture. Just a concussion and a very long list of instructions Jack is going to force you to follow.
Mel is a sweetheart, she helps brush and braid your wet and now knotted hair. She even throws a blanket around you before Langdon transitions you into a wheelchair.
“Alright,” Langdon says, grabbing the handlebars of your wheelchair. “Field trip.”
“I can walk,” you argue weakly.
“Not happening,” he shoots back, already steering you toward the elevator. “You’re concussed. You tried to fight me about tying my sutures too tight twenty minutes ago before I even threaded the needle”
“So I’m a little out of it, I’m fine.”
“You are absolutely not fine.”
You don’t have the energy to keep fighting him, so you let your head tip back slightly as he pushes you down the hall, the chaos of the ED fading behind you as the elevator doors slide shut.
The elevator dings, and a few minutes later you’re being pushed into post-op, everything is quieter up here, more controlled. Langdon slows as he finds the room, then nudges the door open with his foot.
Jack’s awake. He’s sunk into the bed, eyes half-lidded, hair still damp at the edges like they rushed him through recovery. There’s an IV in his arm, monitors beeping steadily beside him, and he looks so tired.
His eyes flick toward the door when you come in, focusing slowly before recognition settles in.
”Hey, sweetheart.” His gruff voice speaks out, making you burst into tears almost immediately. As soon as you’re parked by the bed Langdon slips out, giving the two of you privacy.
“Baby,” You all but sob, grabbing his hand with both of yours, “I’m so sorry.”
“None of that.” He shook his head, his voice still a little groggy from the anesthesia.
“This is all my fault,” You babbled on, “You told me no, but I did anyway. Then I wasn’t even here for you when you had surgery.”
“That’s because you were concussed,” he replies immediately. “It’s not your fault, s’was an accident.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” His voice is still rough, but steadier now. “You slipped. I tried to catch you. That’s it. I was a very, very willing participant."
“But if I had never-“
“Enough,” He hummed, lacing your fingers together, “Are you okay, baby?”
You nod, tears still slipping down your cheeks. “Four stitches and some bruises, s’all.”
“Felt so useless, baby.” He frowned, thumb swiping soft circles into your skin.
“Don’t,” You pressed your damp face into your conjoined hands, relishing his skin against yours, “I’m just sad we can never do that again. It was fun before you know the incident.”
“The incident.” He deadpanned, “Let me guess, the entire hospital now knows about this incident.”
A blush creeps up your cheeks, “Langdon promised me, but you know his big fucking mouth. Half the ED knew before you even made it upstairs.”
“We’re gonna have to start applying for new jobs.” He groaned, making a chuckle escape your lips.
“It’s not that bad-“
“Robby saw my penis, sweetheart.”
“He’s your best friend! It’s not a big deal-“
“You don’t understand,” He dismissed, “It’s so humiliating-“
“Oh no, your best friend knows you have a massive dick. How will you ever recover?” You teased, making him reach his other hand over to playfully pinch your arm.
You squealed, but he continued anyway. “You don’t understand, it’s a guy thing.”
“Mel gave me a pelvic so,” You shrugged, “we’re 2 for 2 of coworkers seeing our genitals today.”
“God.”
Before you could fall into another fit of giggles, there’s a soft clinical knock at the door. The surgeon walks in, scrub cap still on his head.
“Good timing,” he says, glancing between you both. “I was just coming to update.”
You sit up a little straighter, unraveling yourself from him but keeping your hands laced together.
“So,” he continues, easy, reassuring. “Surgery went well. No complications. No long-term damage.”
Your shoulders drop instantly. “Seriously?” you ask.
“Seriously,” he nods. “Everything’s intact, functioning as it should. He’s going to be sore for a while, obviously, but the prognosis is excellent. You both got here quickly and we were able to eliminate any chance of complications.”
Jack exhales, tension you didn’t even realize he was holding easing out of him.
“However,” the doctor adds, "and you already know this part is coming, being doctors yourselves, “no sexual activity for about six to eight weeks. Minimum. Healing will be the hardest part, but we’ll do check-ups and it’ll be as if nothing even happened. The scars will be basically nonexistent.”
Before the doctor can even leave, giggles are tumbling out of your mouth. You feel their side eyes as you cover your face in your hands, unable to stifle the laughs.
“She’s concussed..” Abbot offers gently, and the doctor nods, slipping out of the room. Your giggles only get louder when the door shuts. Your body was racked with laughter, shoulders shaking.
“Dude,” you manage finally, looking at him with watery eyes. “I broke your penis.”
He stares at you for half a second. Then, despite everything, the corner of his mouth twitches.
“…would’ve been a hell of a way to go,” he mutters.
That does not help. You laugh harder, pressing a hand to your head as it throbs in protest, and he watches you like you’ve lost it completely, but he’s smiling now too, just a little.
”Admit it.” You press in between giggles, “It’s fucking hilarious.”
“Okay, okay,” He sighs, “If it were anyone else I’d be dying of laughter.”
He laughed, opening his arm open for you, his hands scrunching to beckon you to him. You crawl into the too-small hospital bed with zero hesitation, curling up on his side. It’s a little difficult through the tubes and IV’s, but you manage.
You’re still giggly when he shifts slightly, careful, wincing just a little before he settles again. Then he lifts his arm, opening it toward you.
“C’mere, Ms. Giggles.”
You don’t hesitate.
You push yourself up, ignoring the dull ache in your head, and climb carefully into the too-small hospital bed beside him. It’s awkward for half a second, tubes, blankets, limited space, but then you’re there, curled into his side, your head tucked carefully against his shoulder, his arm settling around you as it belongs there.
The laughter fades into something softer, quieter, your breathing evening out as the reality of everything settles.
You trace lazy circles against his hospital gown, still smiling faintly. “You’d still love me if I broke it permanently, right?”
He huffs a quiet laugh, his hand sliding up to rest against the back of your head, fingers threading carefully through your hair.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Guess I’d have to.”
“Wow,” you mumble. “Romantic.”
He shifts just enough to press his cheek lightly against the top of your head, voice softer now, more serious beneath the teasing.
”I’d also love you if you were a worm, before you ask.” He whispers, and you can feel the smile on his face. There’s no place in the world he’d rather be than right here, with you, forever.
This might be too far but…. thinking abt Jack purposely fucking her (younger reader) where those divorced army buddies could see/hear but it’s “by mistake” 😏😏😏😏😏😏😏
In reference to this fic — which lowkey I was tempted to write that happening but my brain wasn’t working half through that fic and I was struggling to make the transitions to where I wanted it to go make sense anyway it’d go something like this.
Jack was beyond over his friends flirting with you every chance they could when they would visit him, he’s also not certain but he swears they ask to hang out at his far more than before. They are in fact on their way over now, you are not at all aware of this. If you were he wouldn’t be able to have gotten you into your current position.
Jack currently has you on top of him as he lays back in the large armchair, hands gripping your hips, his thumbs ribbing at your waist while you greedily bounce on his cock. “Can’t do it, Jackie” you cry and start grinding your pussy down on him in lazy motions. He can’t help but like the sound of that nickname from your lips in this context. “Always needing me to do all the work” He tsks and you let out a sharp gasp when he bucks his hips up, “Feels that good huh sweetheart? ” he coos and uses his hold on your hips to rock you back and forth, your clit bumping up at the patch of coarse hair at the base of Jack’s cock. Now your back may or may not be facing his front door which has a frosted fair size window, and you are far too lost in the bliss that is the tip of Jack’s cock hitting your g-spot at the perfect angle when you grind down in time with him thrusting his hips up. That you miss a small knock his buddies give the door informing him they are here, Jack takes this as his cue to pull you closer, wrapping his arms around your center he brutally thrusts up into your leaking pussy.
“Jack!!! Mhm- you feel so good oh, fuck!” you moan out in a loud gasp that he knows travels outside because he watches their silhouettes freeze through the window. ‘Yeah doll, you can take it know ya’ can” He growls out, as your nails scratch at his biceps. “No no- can’t s’ too much” you whine out and lightly shake your head, Jack grabbing a hold of your face so your eyes lock with his. “Cum f’ me sweetheart you can do it, come on coat this cock” he gives his words emphasis by somehow speeding up the strength of his thrusts til your eyes roll back in your head and your cunt clenches down on him, trying her hardest to milk him for all he’s worth.
“There we go baby” he coos as you let your orgasm wash over you in waves, his hips slowing down to let you ride out your high. As your panting against his chest trying to catch your breath
“Oh and doll when you can walk again, we will probably wanna let the guys in” he shrugs. “Forgot they were on the way, think they’re outside” you are embarrassed but none the wiser he is lying his ass off in the ladder half of that sentence, you’ll never know he did this on purpose. When the guys are eventually let in they avoid flirting and direct eye contact with you, having gotten the intended message.
a/n: some nsfw dennis whitaker headcanons because i can’t get him out of my head!!! he lives in my mind rent free now <3
18+ MDNI!
𖥔 ݁ ˖ he adores your pussy. he doesn’t care how it looks or what color it is, he loves how soft and wet she gets for him, that being said, this man is an eater!!! even as a teen he would go behind the barn and pump his cock to the thought of eating a beautiful woman’s cunt.
𖥔 ݁ ˖ he’s a biiiiig talker! loves telling you how good you feel, how good you’re making him feel and vice versa. dirty talk is his thingggg!!! “f-fuck baby you’re so fucking perfect. she’s fucking sucking me in..holy shit, there’s my good girl.” he also has quite the potty mouth when he’s feeling euphoric, he can’t help it! :(
𖥔 ݁ ˖ dennis is a spit whore. he lovesssss it messy. especially when you’re making out as he’s fucking your brains out. it makes him so fucking horny and it has the same effect on you.
𖥔 ݁ ˖ i know a lot of people won’t agree with this, but in my professional opinion, dennis is a big dick boy! he’s a country boy, so in my mind, that man is hung. probably 7 inches when he’s soft and 8 when he’s hard. and he has a cute blonde curly bush at the base, circumcised, his cock is a pretty pink color and his tip is a very pale red. <3
𖥔 ݁ ˖ he’s a closeted freak/pervert. like i said, he grew up on a farm, he didn’t have pornhub but he did have his older brothers and fathers playboy magazines! because of the lack of pornography, it made him very imaginative.
𖥔 ݁ ˖ he’s a moaner and a whimperer for sure, like no doubt about it. especially when he’s close! he’ll keep pounding into you harder ‘n faster and moan in your ear as his hot, sticky load pumps inside of you.
𖥔 ݁ ˖ one of his favorite things to do is sit you on his face while he pumps his painfully hard and aching cock, his tip practically dripping with pre-cum. he’ll fuck his tongue in your hole as his nose catches on your clit perfectly. <3
𖥔 ݁ ˖ once you two are in a serious relationship and boundaries have been set, you let him use you in your sleep and he fucking adores it. he’ll wake up for his shift at 6:00 and the first thing he does is eat your cunt. there’s something about eating you out when you’re sleeping that drives him insane. you’re so soft, so sweet, so pliant in his hands. and then when you wake up he’ll fuck you while you’re on your side, his hands coming down to play with your cute nipples.
𖥔 ݁ ˖ i am a soft dom!dennis truther idc!! he loves to put you in your place every once in a while (only when you deserve it of course) he has some muscle, so he loves to throw you around and spank you when you’re being bratty. he only gives in because your pussy is weeping for him. she’s so well trained!
𝙙𝙞𝙜𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙮 𓂃۶ৎ @digitallaidy - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
